


Cookouts and Campfires

by kel_1970



Series: Invisible Minority [2]
Category: Emergency!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kel_1970/pseuds/kel_1970
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Station 51's A-shift goes on a camping trip. Two people learn surprising things about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is for fun, not profit. I do not own the characters. Universal and Mark VII do. Please do not sue me. This story is intended to represent the fictional character, not the actor of the same name.

**Cookouts and Campfires**

 

 **Chapter 1.**

 

Roy was at the grill, flipping some burgers, when he heard another vehicle pull up in the gravel drive. He recognized the VW Rabbit that belonged to Mike Stoker’s girlfriend, Serena.

 

“Hey, guys! Mike and Serena are here!” he called to the rest of the gang. Everyone from A-shift was there – Cap and Mrs. Stanley, Marco and his girl Lila, and Chet and Johnny, the two steadfast singles of the group. They hadn’t been sure whether Mike was going to make it to the cookout or not, since he and Serena had been going to a play that her kindergarten class was putting on earlier that afternoon.

 

“Hey, Mike!” called Roy. “Come on back! Hi, Serena, glad you guys could make it.”

 

Serena opened the gate for Mike. His left arm was still in a sling to protect the shoulder he’d dislocated a few weeks before, falling down a hill during a brush fire. Serena headed immediately for the group of women, grabbing a beer from the cooler on her way.

 

“How are the shoulder and the hand coming along?” Roy asked Stoker.

 

“Not too bad – shoulder’s still plenty sore, but I’m getting some range of motion back. The hand isn’t too bad unless it gets cold. Then it feels like those cactus spines are still in there.”

 

Roy winced in sympathy. “The good news about it being fall is that the brush fire season is tapering off, but the bad news for you is that there’ll actually be some cool nights now.”

 

Mike gave a careful one-shouldered shrug. “I can deal. Never been a fan of the heat anyhow.”

 

Mike and Roy were both wondering whether to bring up their last in-depth discussion, which had taken place in the back of an ambulance on the way to Rampart. To Roy’s surprise, the usually-laconic Mike spoke up. Sort of.

 

“Um, thanks for your understanding, about, you know.”

 

Roy smiled back. “No problem.”

 

Mike added, cautiously looking around to make sure he wasn’t overheard, “Serena and I cover for each other. I go to school things with her, and she comes to fire station stuff with me. Makes things easier. We’re pals.”

 

Roy was relieved to hear Mike’s explanation. He had been wondering whether the situation was as Mike had just described, or whether the “relationship” was a one-way cover. He didn’t think Mike was the kind of guy who’d use someone like that, though.

 

“Good. Thanks for telling me.”

 

The four other guys wandered over to the grill.

 

“Hey, Stoker! How’s it goin’?” asked Chet, who already had a couple of beers in him. “Giving Roy a hand here at the grill?”

 

“Ha, ha,” replied Mike.

 

“Seriously, though, us guys were just talkin’ about maybe camping out for a coupla days next time we have a four day break. That’s comin’ up soon, right, Cap?”

 

“Yep – Tuesday through Friday, starting in just over two weeks,” said Captain Stanley. “And not a second too soon.”

 

“Well, I’m game,” said Johnny, “as long as we can go somewhere where there’s actually fish to catch. You up for it, Mike?”

 

Truth be told, Mike was going out of his mind with boredom. His medical leave was supposed to be at least six weeks, and he was only halfway done and wanted to drown himself. But camping, with a dislocated shoulder? “Well, I dunno if I can sleep on the ground with this shoulder, guys,” he said dejectedly.

 

Chet saved the day. “No problemo, man; I’ll bring my van, and you can have the bunk. And some other sorry fool who can take your snoring can have the other one.”

 

Mike considered this arrangement. “All right. Been really bored. Sounds good. Thanks, guys.”

 

The ladies – Mrs. Cap, Joanne, Lila, and Serena – were chatting on the other side of the yard. They looked over at the men briefly, and then all laughed at the same time, making the men wonder what had just been discussed.

 

“But here’s the deal,” continued Chet. “No girls. No wives, either. Just us guys. I mean, it’d be fair if we _all_ had someone to bring, but poor Gage doesn’t have a chance—” Johnny promptly made a childish face at Chet— “so the kindest thing is for it just to be us A-shift guys and that’s it.

 

“And on that topic,” Chet continued, “Stoker, when’re ya gonna make an honest woman out of poor Serena? I mean, you guys’ve been together the whole time we’ve all worked at 51s. Aren’t there any sounds of wedding bells in the future there?”

 

“Ah, mind your business, Chet,” Johnny defended Mike, who was blushing a deep shade of pink. “Least he’s gettin’ some, unlike _certain_ people I could mention. Besides, lotsa people don’t get married these days.”

 

Roy studiously flipped some burgers and rolled some dogs on the grill.

 

“Yeah, kids these days,” muttered Cap. “Okay, you imbeciles, I’ll go along – but only if Roy goes too. Darned if I’m gonna be the only old married guy out there with all you hooligans. Roy?”

 

“Sure – I’ll get Joanne to invite her mother down for the week,” agreed Roy.

 

“I’m in too – Lila’s at work during the week anyhow,” said Marco.

 

“Far out!” said Johnny. “Brush fire season’ll be over, so we could even have a campfire.”

 

______

 

By early afternoon on a bright Tuesday in early October, they were finally on the road. Chet and Marco rode in Chet’s VW pop-up camping van, along with all the gear and supplies. The other four loaded into Cap’s new Oldsmobile Delta 88, the most reliable of the other vehicles the group had amongst them. Johnny called shotgun, and the other guys let him take that seat, since they knew he was prone to motion sickness.

 

The two vehicles arrived at the group’s campsite, and the occupants got out and stretched their legs.

 

“Hey, Gage, ya make it all the way without having to puke this time?” Chet jibed.

 

“Yeah, I was savin’ it up just for you, Kelly,” Johnny shot back. “I’m sure you’ll come up with somethin’ today that will make me hurl.”

 

“All right, children,” said Roy, “we better get the tents pitched before it starts getting dark.”

 

“Okay, Dad,” said Marco. “But who’s gonna bunk with the lumberjack, here?”

 

“Not me,” said Cap. “I’m too old to be up all night anymore. Plus, I’ve got a good three inches of height on any of you munchkins.”

 

“Well, I vote for Gage to take the damage,” said Chet. “He’s so fidgety that nobody will get any sleep with him in a tent anyhow.”

 

“I second that,” said Cap. “Gage, you’re like an electric egg beater without an off switch.”

 

Roy caught a look on Mike’s face that worried him. “C’mon, guys; how is it fair to decide by jury? We oughta draw straws or something, right, Johnny?”

 

Johnny shrugged. “I don’t care; I always sleep with earplugs when I’m camping anyhow. See?” He reached into his duffel bag, and held up a cylinder of six foam earplugs – four purple and two orange.

 

“Nah,” said Roy, “we still oughta draw lots. Here, Johnny, dump `em out – four purples and an orange.” He held a mug out to Johnny, who unwrapped the package and dumped the earplugs into the mug. “Orange bunks with Stoker.” He held the mug out to Chet. “Rank has its privileges: you first, Cap.”

 

Surprisingly, Cap agreed to participate. He closed his eyes and grabbed. “Whew, purple. You next, Phantom.”

 

Chet closed his eyes and reached into the mug. “Hah! Purple! All right, Gage, do your worst.”

 

Johnny dipped into the mug, and pulled out the orange earplug. Everyone jeered at him. “Like I said, I don’t really care – unless I don’t get those earplugs back. Now gimme,” he demanded, and placed the earplugs back in their tube.

 

Roy looked apologetically at Stoker, shrugging his shoulders as if to say “Sorry, pal, I tried.”

 

Stoker disappeared to the van to see what supplies he could carry out one-handed. Roy followed him, leaving the rest of the guys by the fire pit.

 

“Hey, Mike, you all right with this?”

 

Mike sighed. “Well, I’ll manage. Don’t see how I can get out of it.” He half dreaded, half looked forward to sharing quarters with the object of his desires. “Thanks for trying to rescue me, though—again.”

 

_________

 

Mike Stoker did not sleep well. In fact, he did not sleep at all. At first, he didn’t mind – it was nice watching Johnny sleep, seeing his face with no expression at all, listening to his breathing, and trying to decipher the little mumblings he produced in his sleep. But, every time Mike was about to drift off to sleep, he was reminded of the fact that he was not alone, and who he was with, and was wide awake again. Luckily, this did not happen at the station, since his bunk was separated from Johnny’s not only by two other bunks, but by a brick divider as well.

 

By the time the sun started to rise, Stoker had had enough. He grabbed his sling, put it on, slid some sweatpants over his boxers, and put his jacket over his shoulders. He quietly left the van, leaving the door slightly ajar so as not to wake Johnny with the slamming sound the door made when it was closed completely.

 

The previous night’s fire had been, of course, completely extinguished before the six firemen turned in for the night. Like good campers, they poured water over the ashes and stirred until they were sure there was not an ember left.

 

In the morning chill, Stoker started slowly gathering tinder, placing it in the firepit, and making a tepee of kindling over the tinder. One-handed, he stacked a couple pieces of firewood within reach for when the tinder caught. He knelt by the firepit, and, holding the matchbox in his knees, struck a match, and held it to the tinder.

 

The tinder caught immediately. Even though fire season was technically over, all the tinder he’d collected was dry and ready to burn. The kindling caught, and after it was blazing, Mike added the logs he had ready.

 

“Not bad for a guy with one arm,” a voice behind him said.

 

Mike practically jumped out of his skin – he hadn’t realized anyone else was up. “Oh, hey Johnny. Thought you were still out cold.”

 

“Nah, one whiff of smoke and I’m up for good. Bet the others won’t be far behind,” Johnny predicted. He headed to a rope that was cleated around a stub of a branch about six feet off the ground, and began unwinding it. He lowered the bag of food that they’d hoisted out of the reach of any bears in the area, rummaged through the bag, and got out a can of coffee.

 

“Here, gimme, I’ll make it,” said Stoker. “Least that’s something I can manage around here.”

 

“Okay, I’ll start some eggs.” Johnny brought over water for the powdered eggs and the coffee, and he and Stoker started a campfire breakfast.

 

The two men heard the sound of a tent zipper opening. Cap and Roy emerged from the tent they shared, followed shortly by Marco and Chet, from the next tent.

 

The men all exchanged bleary-eyed “g’mornin’s.”

 

Chet started right in with the remarks. “So, it was awful quiet around here all night – I didn’t hear a single chainsaw. What was your magical secret for not snoring last night, Stoker?”

 

“Not sleeping,” Mike replied, jabbing the fire with a stick.

 

“Then what _were_ ya doin’, huh Stoker?” poked Chet.

 

“Just... not sleeping. Don’t you ever have insomnia?” He stomped off into the woods, who knew where.

 

“Hey, where ya goin’?” shouted Chet. “I’m just teasin’, you know.”

 

“Takin’ a leak, moron.”

 

“All right – let us know if you need a hand,” Chet joked. The others just shook their heads at him.

 

“Man, Chet – kick him when he’s down, why dontcha?” said Marco. “And by the way, Gage, what’d you do to keep him up all night? I didn’t even hear a peep outta you!” Everyone knew that Marco had the keenest ears of any of them, and was woken by any sound.

 

Gage looked – and felt – baffled. “Nothin’! Man, you guys always think the worst of me. I was just sleepin’! In fact, I slept like a log. Can’t remember the last time I slept so good. Guess Mikey’s my good luck charm.”

 

Roy choked on his coffee and coughed heavily.

 

“You all right, there, pal?” asked Cap, pounding his back.

 

“Yeah,” said Roy hoarsely, “just got some coffee down the wrong tube.”

 

“Aren’t you fancy paramedics s’posta know the difference?” asked Chet.

 

“Somebody, please, poison him now and put him out of our misery!” said Marco. “And, speaking of poisoning, we better get to fishing if we’re gonna have any dinner tonight!”

 

Cap groaned. “Aw, c’mon, guys; you know I can’t eat fish anymore since that grateful couple – what were their names? – tortured us with their Trout a la Soot and Salmon Surprise! I don’t care _what_ you catch – I’m opening a can of chili.”

 

“Oh, yeah, the Merkles! Now _that_ was a disaster. Wonder what station they’re attached to now?” said Marco.

 

The guys finished their eggs, washed the dishes, and set out in different directions for their day’s plans. Johnny, Roy, and Chet set out fishing. Marco and Cap wanted to see if they could make a lean-to out of branches they found. Mike wasn’t sure what he was going to do for the rest of the day, but headed to the van to grab a nap.

____

 

By early afternoon, Mike felt reasonably well rested. He emerged from the van to find nobody else present. By the fire-pit, there was a note for him:

 

Dear Sleeping Beauty – We didn’t want to wake you, but we’re all at a swimming hole about half a mile down the Deep Woods trail. If you manage to wake up, come for a swim! —The Guys

 

Swimming sounded good. He put his swim trunks on, and joined the rest of the gang.

 

“Hey, man, come on in! The water’s great!” hollered Chet.

 

Johnny and Marco were giving everyone heart attacks with their cliff-jumping contest, and Chet, Roy, and Cap were just enjoying the water. Mike thought that a dip in the water, without the sling, might be just the thing to loosen up his shoulder.

 

They all spent the rest of the afternoon at the swimming hole. Finally, they grabbed their string of fish from a deep, cold pool, and headed back to camp.

 

By the time they’d cleaned, cooked, and eaten the fish – minus Captain Stanley, who made good on his promise not to touch the stuff – it was getting dark and cool.

 

“I’ll bet it rains tonight,” said Johnny.

 

“What, are you kidding? The sky is clear! Look at the stars, man,” said Chet.

 

“Nope, definitely gonna rain,” Johnny insisted.

 

“I dunno, John; Chet’s right – it’s awfully clear and calm right now. Why do you think it’s gonna rain?”

 

“Well, on account of I’ve broken this leg—” he gestured to his right leg— “twice, and it tells me it’s gonna rain! C’mon, don’t tell me none of the rest of you have a weather-wise bone or two. We’ve all got beat up some, haven’t we?” he pressed.

 

“Sure, Gage, but not like you,” said Chet. “I mean, you’re a walking accident machine. Though I have to say, Stoker’s show last month was pretty good. What about it, Mike – that cactus hand have anything to say about a storm?”

 

Mike looked noncommittal. “I dunno – shoulder’s kinda achy, but I probably overdid it with the swimming.”

 

Marco yawned loudly. “I don’t know about you guys,” he said, “but I’m gonna finish this beer and then turn in.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Anyone wanna trade spots tonight?” asked Roy, not so sure he wanted to spend a night in a tent with someone who’d had beer and chili for dinner. Nobody bit. “Johnny, you okay with the snoring?” he continued, figuring he should at least try to rescue Stoker from another night of no sleep.

 

“Like I said, man, earplugs. Plus, Mike and I will be all warm and dry when it starts pouring later,” said Johnny. “You’ll see.”

 

The guys picked up their beer cans, hoisted the empties up in the tree along with the food, and watered and stirred the embers of the fire. They headed to their respective bunks and tents.

 

Inside the van, Johnny and Mike straightened out their bunks, and made piles here and there of supplies.

 

“Man, I’m totally beat,” said Johnny. “Nothin’ like cliff-diving and a whole afternoon in a swimming hole to wear a guy out. You think you’ll be able to sleep tonight, Mike?”

 

“Dunno,” was Mike’s terse reply. _Probably not, with your royal sexiness tossing around all night again._

 

“What kept ya up all night, anyhow? Was I thrashing around? Roy complains about that at the station sometimes. Once I even fell out of the bed, right on my boots!”

 

“You mumble in your sleep, too. Pretty funny,” smiled Stoker.

 

“What’d I say? Nothing incriminating, I hope.” Johnny waggled his eyebrows, and Mike just about had to run outside. “I mean, I wouldn’t want half the nursing staff of Rampart to come after me with pitchforks and torches.”

 

“Nah – couldn’t really tell what you were saying. It was just—” _cute? Hot?—_ “funny.”

 

 

Mike rummaged in his duffel bag, and grabbed a bottle of aspirin. He fumbled with the child-proof cap, and finally handed it to Johnny in frustration. “Can you open this? Stupid childproof caps – more like injured-person proof.”

 

Johnny pushed down and turned, and popped a couple tablets out for Mike. “Here ya go. I’ll tell ya, though – aspirin is deadly poison if you take too much. I’ll bet these new caps save a lotta kids.”

 

 _Well, at least I know what I can use to kill myself if I find myself watching him all night again._ “Yeah, I guess. Anyhow, thanks.” He dry-swallowed the pills, and tried to work the soreness out of his shoulder.

 

“Hey, when do ya go back for a checkup? They gonna turn you loose for PT soon?”

 

“Um, Monday,” replied Stoker. “S’posta start PT next week.”

 

“Great! You didn’t tear any ligaments clean through or break your collarbone, so you’ll be back to the action in no time.”

 

“Good. Goin’ crazy, sittin’ at home all day.”

 

“Tell me about it. Sucks, don’t it?” Johnny stripped down to his boxers and climbed into his bunk. “Well, nighty night. Just whack me if I’m keepin’ you up, ‘kay? I won’t even remember.”

 

“Okay. G’night.” Stoker tried desperately not to think of what he _really_ wanted to do if Gage was keeping him awake. He flipped the dome light off, undressed down to his t-shirt and boxers, and did his best to get comfortable on the foam mattress of his bunk.

 

The starlight was bright enough that Mike could see Johnny’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall. He had his arm over his forehead, just like he had the previous night as he fell asleep.

 

After a few minutes, Mike was sure Johnny was asleep. He could tell, because instead of lying still, Johnny kicked off his covers, rolled over onto his stomach, and mumbled something incoherent into his pillow. His right arm dangled off the bunk.

 

Mike tried to think about sleeping at the station – after all, he never had trouble falling asleep when all five guys were there. But, it was just different enough, having Gage all to himself like this, that once again, sleep eluded Mike.

 

After an hour or so, he’d had enough. Not believing Johnny’s weather prediction in the slightest, he rolled up his sleeping bag, quietly opened the door of the van, and slipped out into the clear night. He laid his sleeping bag out on a reasonably flat bed of pine needles, and, mercifully, fell asleep nearly instantly.

 

Mike was sleeping so heavily when the rain started falling that he did not wake at first. Finally, large droplets from the branches of the pine tree that partially protected him fell onto his face, demanding his attention.

 

“What the fuck?” By the time Stoker sat up, the rain was pounding down like cold bullets. He climbed out of his sleeping bag, which by that point was a sodden mess, and made for the van door.

 

Although the van was only five yards away, Stoker was a soaking, dripping mess by the time he reached the door. He forgot to be careful and quiet opening the van door, and threw himself into the van, slamming the door shut. “Fuck!” He threw his dripping sleeping bag over the console between the two front seats.

 

“Wha... huh?” said Johnny, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Shit, Stoker – or should I say ‘Soaker!’ What the hell were you doing sleepin’ outside? It’s not like _**I**_ snore, and plus, you’ve got the cushiest bunk of anyone, thanks to that sling there.” He looked at Mike. “Damn, but you’re a mess.” Water sheeted down his legs, washing a few of the many pine needles stuck there onto the floor of the van.

 

Stoker just stood there dripping and shivering. He started to try to strip down to get dry, but with only one hand, and one that was only partially working at that, getting those clingy wet clothes off was not in the cards. He kicked the door of the van, and stood there just dripping some more.

 

“Man, you’re drippin’ all over the place – cut it out!” Johnny stared at his friend, a dripping wet mess, but then took pity. “All right, all right, lemme help; just hold still.”

 

The rain was really cold, and Mike was chilled to the bone. But still, he didn’t think he could tolerate having Johnny stripping his clothes off, even in a purely clinical way – which was _not_ the way he wanted something like that to happen. _Not that it ever would._

 

“Johnny, stop. Just... stop.” Mike snatched a towel from his duffel bag and crawled into the passenger seat of the van.

 

“What?! What’d I do? Geez, man, you’re gonna catch your death! Now lemme help!” Johnny squeezed into the driver’s seat.

 

To his shock, Mike had buried his head in his hands – at least, as well as he could with his arm in a sling.

 

“Mike, man, I’m sorry, whatever I did or said, I’m sorry.” Johnny was baffled – simply baffled. “Can you at least tell me what it was so I don’t do it again?”

 

Silence.

 

“All right. I’ll wait. Despite what everyone thinks, I can be really, really patient when I want to.”

 

Johnny sat quietly, understanding that something was bothering his friend deeply. He looked at Mike, saw him shivering, saw the steam coming off his body in the cold of the van. He reached behind him, to grab the blanket off his bunk, and leaned towards Mike to cover him.

 

“Don’t!” was Mike’s agonized cry. “Please, just... don’t touch me.” He was breathing hard, hunching forward as if to protect his midsection. “Not unless you mean it.”

 

 _Mean it?_

 

 _Oh._

 

 _No way..._

 

“Okay, Mike. It’s okay. I’ll wait till you want to talk. Like I said, I’m pretty patient.”

 

Stoker looked up. A single tear traced a path through the moisture the rain had already left on his face. “Patient? _Patient?!_ You’re not _like_ me. You know _nothing_ about patience, so don’t pretend you do.” He looked away, ashamed of his outburst, and not sure whether Johnny had really understood him.

 

Johnny was silent for a moment, and then decided to take a chance.

 

“Mike, you’re right – I’m _not_ like you. I’m not like _anyone_. I’m not anything. I don’t belong anywhere, not completely. Any fence between two worlds? I’m sittin’ right on it. I’m half everything, and all nothing. Half Indian, half white. Half fireman, half medic. Half super rescue hero, half incredible klutz. Oh yeah, and last but not least, half straight, half gay.” Johnny sat back and waited, oh, so patiently, for Mike’s reaction to that last pair of contrasts.

 

Mike froze. For several seconds, he wondered if he’d heard right. _Johnny’s bi?_ Finally he looked up.

 

“Serena’s my cover,” he said softly, “and I’m hers. It’s apparently just as unacceptable to be a lesbian kindergarten teacher as a gay fireman. Although if someone outed her, _she’d_ just get fired, not lynched. We used to actually hang out, keep each other company, but now she’s had a steady girlfriend for three years so it’s not the same. Now we’re really _just_ each others’ covers.”

 

“Well, you’re both real good actors, ‘cause you had me fooled. And I even have two different sets of eyes to look with, if you know what I mean. I really doubt anyone else on our shift would figure anything out, anyhow.”

 

Stoker had to laugh at that. “Roy did.”

 

Johnny’s eyes bugged out. “ _Roy_ did? Are you _kidding_ me? Mister Traditional himself?”

 

“Yep. Roy’s got gaydar, but not bi-dar, apparently, ‘cause he warned me off you big time.” Stoker smiled at the memory of that moment – exceedingly uncomfortable at the time, and not just because of the dislocated shoulder and cactus-spine impaled hand.

 

“All right, okay, you gotta let me in on this. You actually _talked_ to _Roy_? About _that_? I mean, _me_? I mean, _this_?! I mean, aw hell, I don’t know _what_ I mean.” Johnny shook his head, partly in disbelief, partly in confusion. _Can’t make up my mind about anything, can I?_

 

“Less like talking to; more like blabbing at,” grinned Mike, feeling less shy by the moment.

 

“I give up! I give up!!” Johnny held both hands up in mock surrender. “When? How? _Why_? I mean, ‘blabbing’ is not something anyone associates with the mysterious Michael Stoker.”

 

Mike held up his right hand, cactus spine puncture scars clearly visible, and pointed to his left shoulder. “Do you recall shooting me up with morphine a couple weeks ago?”

 

Johnny nodded, starting to realize.

 

“Well, let’s just say my, uh, inhibitions got loosened up a bit. Okay, a lot. When you were taking my shirt off and splinting me up, I was pretty much ready to jump you, right then and there, when Roy rescued me. Or maybe he rescued you. I wasn’t really sure _who_ he was rescuing, actually. I spilled my guts to him in the ambulance on the way to Rampart. Then I tossed my cookies. Fun day, all in all.”

 

Johnny thought back to that day, and started to put it all together. Mike, practically laughing as Johnny started to cut his coat off, even though it must’ve been painful – he’d chalked that up to hysteria. The weird look he got from Mike while getting the uniform shirt off him – well, that could’ve been a side-effect of the morphine. The uncharacteristic motormouthing – again, he’d figured that was the drugs talking. Mike practically falling on top of him while Johnny wrapped his shoulder – was that the “near miss” Mike was talking about? Ah, and Roy, sending Johnny off suddenly to take care of Cap’s mildly sprained ankle. _That_ was _definitely_ the rescue.

 

Mike sat back and enjoyed watching the wheels turn in Johnny’s head. _Click_. _Click_. He could practically hear Johnny putting it all together.

 

Suddenly, Johnny grinned widely at Mike. “So, whadja say to Roy on the way in to Rampart, anyhow?”

 

Mike snorted. “Uh uh, man. No way.”

 

Johnny noticed that Mike was falling back into his habit of two-word sentences, so he let it drop. For now. “Sorry, sorry. Shouldn’ta asked. But in all seriousness, Mike, it’s probably forty-five degrees in here, and you’re still sitting here in your soaking wet t-shirt and shorts. Will ya _please_ let me help you? I can, I dunno, keep my eyes shut or somethin’ if ya want. It’s pretty much dark in here, anyhow, right?”

 

Mike had to admit to himself that he was freezing, and that he wasn’t going to be able to get the sopping wet clothes off without help. He was so chilled that his right hand, the only one he could use at all, was stiff and unwieldy. Anyhow, having just essentially had a cold shower, he figured it was unlikely that he’d embarrass himself with a visible reaction of any kind.

 

“Okay,” he said softly. “Lemme get a dry shirt and boxers.” Mike climbed back into the sleeping area of the van and rummaged, one-handed, through his duffel bag until he found what he was looking for. He set the dry clothes on his bunk, and turned to see Johnny standing in front of him, in the dim light. With the van’s top popped up, it was just possible for Mike to stand upright in the center of the sleeping area, but Johnny’s hair brushed the ceiling.

 

Johnny gently removed the sling from Mike’s left arm, took Mike’s right hand, and helped him get it through the sleeve of the clinging t-shirt. He then peeled the soaking garment over Mike’s head, and carefully worked it off the left arm. He toweled Mike’s upper body off lightly, being extra careful to support his left arm, and got the new shirt on him. He held up the dripping sling, and asked, looking Mike in the eye for the first time, “Whaddaya think? Do you sleep without it anyhow?”

 

“Yeah – let’s just hang it over the seat to dry.” Mike rubbed his left shoulder to try to ease the ache the chill had left. He tried desperately to ignore the fact that his freezing, sodden boxers were being peeled off of him, and replaced with new, dry, mercifully warm ones.

 

“Thanks,” he said, through chattering teeth.

 

Johnny reached over and flipped on the van’s dome light to get a better look at Mike. “Man, your lips are blue. Here—” he draped a blanket from his own bunk over Mike’s shoulders, studying Mike’s downcast features as he did so. _Let’s take a chance, here._ “I can also happily provide you with some excess body heat, if you’re so inclined. I’ve got plenty.”

 

Mike’s eyes snapped up to meet Johnny’s. “I don’t need your pity.”

 

“That’s not what I’m offering.”

 

Blue eyes locked with brown, for what seemed like hours, until Mike broke the silence. “Let’s not burn out Kelly’s battery.”

 

Johnny reached over to flip the dome light off again, and gently, slowly, drew Mike towards him, wrapping them both in the blanket that he had placed around Mike’s shoulders. Shivering became trembling, and cold became heat, as lips met in the darkness.

 

Cool fingers traced delicate patterns of goosebumps onto warm skin, as warm fingers drew lines of heat on icy cold skin. Mike sighed into Johnny’s thick, dark hair, as Johnny planted tiny kisses down his neck, across the hollow of his clavicle, and then rested his lips gently on the spot where the bones of the shoulder joint come together.

 

“This the spot, Mike?”

 

“Uh-huh,” was all Mike could say, as Johnny warmed the sore place with hot breaths through Mike’s t-shirt.

 

Mike found Johnny’s left hand with his own right one, and interlocked their fingers.

 

“Feelin’ any warmer?” Johnny asked. With his thumb, Johnny could feel Mike’s pulse pounding through his wrist. He guessed he knew what the answer would be.

 

“Yeah, you’re definitely chasing those chills away.” Mike squeezed Johnny’s hand gently, and released it so he could use his own hand to guide Johnny’s face back up to his. Mike captured Johnny’s mouth hungrily, and was rewarded with small sounds of pleasure, which he complemented with his own.

 

Though he really didn’t want to, Mike broke away after several minutes. “Johnny,” he whispered, right into his ear, “we can’t let this get out of hand.”

 

Johnny controlled his breathing, with some effort, and replied, “No, not here. Not now. You’re right. But man, I really _wanna_ let things get out of hand. _Bad_.”

 

Mike laughed softly, stroking Johnny’s spine from top to bottom and back again. “I can tell,” he said quietly, pressing the entire length of his body up against Johnny’s, and taking Johnny’s hand again. “By the way, wanna know what I said to Roy when I was high as a kite?” He kissed Johnny’s hand lightly, and didn’t wait for an answer. “I told him I thought you had great hands, and that you could cut my clothes off anytime, and I wouldn’t try to stop you.”

 

Johnny laughed, as Mike nibbled each finger of the hand he was holding. “Damn, and here I am without my scissors.”

 

Mike reluctantly pulled a few inches away from Johnny. “We better go to sleep, or we’re gonna be sorry for a whole lotta reasons.”

 

“Yeah,” sighed Johnny. “I s’pose you’re right.” He paused for a moment, then asked, uncharacteristically shyly, “Will you let me hold you, while we sleep? Just holding, just sleeping, okay?”

 

Mike thought about whether that was really going to be possible—logistically or physiologically. The other guys really would not appreciate finding the two of them sharing a bunk, and the bunks were awfully narrow for one, let alone two. “We can’t get caught, and we won’t fit in one bunk anyhow,” he said regretfully.

 

“Ah, but I know the secrets of the van,” said Johnny. “Here, go up front for a second and get the light.”

 

In the dim glow of the van’s dome light, Mike could just make out what Johnny was doing. First he flipped some latches on the legs that held up the bunk on the door side of the van, and folded that bunk down, letting the foam mattress slide to the floor. Then, he picked up the foam mattress from the opposite bunk, and placed it on the floor of the van next to the other.

 

“There—double mattress on the floor. We lock the doors—good habit, right? And the windows are fogging themselves up nicely. In the morning, we just throw one of the mattresses on the remaining bunk, and if anyone comments on your mattress being on the floor, we just say you didn’t sleep the first night because you were worried about falling on your shoulder, so we threw your mattress on the floor so there’d be nowhere to fall.” He unzipped his sleeping bag with a flourish, and laid it out on top of the mattresses. “Ta da!”

 

“Looks like you thought of everything,” Mike admitted.

 

Johnny started crawling into the bed he’d made. “Oh, believe me, I thought of a lot more than this in the last few minutes,” he laughed. “A _lot_ more. Now turn off that light and get down here!” he ordered.

 

The rain pounded on the roof of the van. Mike fumbled to turn off the dome light, and slipped under the sleeping bag next to Johnny. He could feel the heat radiating from Johnny’s bare chest. Less shy in the total darkness, Mike asked, “Are you sure you’re not putting me on? You and Kelly aren’t setting me up?” He was worried, when Johnny didn’t reply for some time. Soon enough, though, he got his answer, as he was suddenly, deliciously, pinned to the mattress and kissed to within an inch of his life.

 

“That answer your question, Stoker?” Johnny asked huskily.

 

“Yeah, that was pretty clear,” Mike admitted, once he was able to say anything at all.

 

“Good.” Johnny rolled off Mike, careful not to jar his injured shoulder. “’Cause from now on, we gotta pretend we’re teenagers, and your dad is downstairs, and if he suspects anything is going on, he’ll beat the living shit outta me and lock you in your bedroom for a hundred years. And we can’t have that, can we.”

 

“Hell, no,” whispered Mike, “but I’ll bet you’d still be totally hot in a hundred years anyhow.”

 

“C’mon, man, don’t make me hafta go outside and get a cold shower!”

 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. And,” Mike added quietly, “I’m sorry I yelled at you, before. I had no idea.”

 

“Mike,” Johnny sighed, “that’s the point, ain’t it? Guys like you and me, in our jobs? Nobody’s s’posta have any idea, right?”

 

They both struggled to get comfortable in the tight space. “I can only really sleep on my back with this shoulder,” admitted Mike.

 

“That’s okay – you get comfy, good, just like that, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Johnny rolled onto his side, threw an arm and a leg over Mike, and snuggled into him. “This okay?”

 

“You bet. Toasty warm, too. It’s true, what they say about conduction being more efficient than convection.”

 

“Mike, you gonna sleep all right? I don’t want you to get sick or anything,” said Johnny. “I mean, it sounds like you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

 

“You know what, Johnny? I think I’m gonna sleep great.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Cookouts and Campfires**

**Chapter 2.**

By the time the sun peeked over the mountain to the east, and the birds started shaking the raindrops off their feathers and chirping earnestly, the rain had petered out. When Hank Stanley unfolded his long frame from the confines of his and Roy’s tent, he was amazed how much greener everything looked already. Even though it wasn’t really possible for it to happen so fast, it seemed that the woods had changed overnight from a crispy, crackly fire hazard to a lush, green forest.

As the first one up, he knew it was his job to start the fire and get the coffee going. If the poor night’s sleep he’d had was any predictor, he was going to have five grumpy firemen to deal with soon, and he wanted to be ready with some caffeine to temper the mood.

Luckily, someone had thought to cover a stack of logs and kindling with a tarp the night before, even though nobody seriously believed Johnny’s claim that it was going to rain. So, it was not as hard as he’d expected to get a good, crackling fire going in the damp fire pit.

As he waited for the fire to be just right for the percolator, Hank warmed his hands and feet by the fireside. The foot of his sleeping bag must’ve been touching the tent, because when he woke, the end of his sleeping bag, and the feet that it contained, were drenched and freezing. He hated having cold, wet feet more than anything else – the feeling reminded him of the unpleasant winter he spent in Korea as a much younger man.

As he waited by the fire for the rest of his crew to appear, he thought about his men and how far they’d all come over the years they’d been working together. It was rare for a shift to stay together as long as the six of them had, and Hank had enjoyed the opportunity to see the young men grow into, well, slightly older and far more capable men. Though they all still seemed awfully young to him.

When he first met his shiftmates, the only one he was concerned about was John Gage. He was so young, and somehow seemed even younger than he actually was, if that could even be possible. But, after six months of seeing Gage at work, he realized that the flippant, care-free façade he showed the world was exactly that: a façade. But it wasn’t like the false front of a building, placed there to make the structure look larger and more impressive than it actually was. Rather, this particular façade seemed to be designed to make John appear _less_ than he actually was. After a year or two of seeing how competent Gage was at all aspects of his job, Hank stopped worrying about John’s future. He might never settle down and get married, or anything like that, but he was damned good at his job, which seemed to be his main purpose in life. Other than chasing girls, that is.

Now, the member of his team that Hank worried about most was his engineer. Mike Stoker was a newly-promoted engineer with six solid years and several commendations on his record when he joined 51s. He did his job as an engineer superbly. His judgment was impeccable, and Hank was happy to have such a solid second-in-command. Aside from his engineer duties, Stoker was a solid firefighter, with a terrific feel for fires and how they evolved.

But he was so quiet, so reserved, so shy, that Hank wondered whether he was a happy person. With all the other men, Hank had a sense of who they really were underneath whatever image they put forth to the world. But Stoker remained a mystery. Hank really wanted to know all his men personally, but time after time, Stoker gently rebuffed any attempts on Hank’s part to get him to open up. Finally, Hank realized that Mike was just plain uncomfortable talking about anything personal, so rather than make a project of getting Stoker to open up, he let him be.

If Stoker hadn’t been with Serena the entire time he’d known him, Hank would’ve been concerned that Mike was a profoundly lonely person. Fortunately, Serena seemed like a sensitive and caring young woman. He hoped they were happy together – they must be, since they’d been together for so long – but he did wonder why they hadn’t gotten married after so many years as a couple. But, like Gage said at the DeSotos’ cookout, lots of people just didn’t bother to get married, especially if they didn’t have kids.

Still, he wished Stoker seemed like he was close to any of the guys on the shift. Marco and Chet were great friends, as were Johnny and Roy. Cap didn’t mind that he wasn’t buddies with any of the guys on the shift – it wouldn’t really be appropriate, in any case, and he and Mrs. Cap, as the guys sometimes called her, had many good friends from his years at other stations, and from other places as well.

But the strong connections between the two main pairs of friends sometimes made Mike Stoker appear to be the odd man out. That fact, added to Stoker’s extreme personal reticence, made Hank extra glad that at least Mike was with Serena for what appeared to be the long term.

Still, for a reason he couldn’t quite put a name to, Hank sometimes worried about his engineer anyhow. He was glad Mike had been able to come on this trip, and grateful that Chet had worked out a way for the injured shoulder not to be an excuse for Stoker to sit at home and stew.

Cap’s reverie was interrupted by Chet and Marco emerging from their tent. Hank had a bet with himself that within the first hour of Chet’s being awake, he would somehow poke fun at every member of the shift except for Hank himself. The previous morning, Chet hadn’t disappointed. Luckily, all the guys knew that Chet’s constant pokes and jibes were his way of expressing affection. And it was kind of fun, sometimes, to see Gage get riled up by Chet’s teasing and pranks.

This morning, though, Chet looked extremely grumpy. Marco did not look like he’d had much of a better night himself.

“Dare I say ‘good morning’ to the pair of you?” Cap inquired cautiously. “Or would it be safer just to say that the coffee’s almost ready?”

“Coffee,” was Chet’s one-word reply. _Uh-oh._ And Marco just rubbed his eyes and warmed his hands by the fire.

Just then, Roy emerged from the tent he’d shared with Cap. He looked rumpled and, well, moist, but not particularly grumpy. Cap knew from his own experience that getting up after a not-great night’s camping sleep was nothing compared to, say, getting up after a lousy night’s sleep and dealing with cranky or sick kids on a school morning when you had to be at the station by eight anyhow.

“Hey, Cap,” said Roy. “Quite the rain, huh? My feet sure got wet. How ‘bout yours?”

“Yep, ditto,” replied Cap.

“How’d you two fare?” Roy asked Chet and Marco.

“Don’t ask, DeSoto. It was a lousy, wet, loud, cold, crummy night. I’d go back to bed, but everything in there is soggy,” complained Chet. “At least the sun is out now, so we oughta be able to dry out by tonight. Never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I actually envy Gage this morning, since all _he_ had to deal with was Stoker’s snoring.”

Inside Chet’s van, there was absolutely no complaining happening whatsoever.

Mike woke first. Unlike his previous nerve-wracking experiences watching the sleep of the most beautiful man he’d ever met, this morning he just enjoyed the sight and sounds of the man sleeping next to him. True to form, Johnny had thrown off the blanket and sleeping bag from his upper body, and so lay there half uncovered, for Mike to admire. Mike propped himself up on his good right elbow, and watched the rise and fall of the smooth, slim, but well-muscled chest. With some effort on the part of his injured shoulder muscles, he was able to hold his left hand just over Johnny’s chest, and feel the heat radiating from his body.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Mike placed his hand gently on Johnny’s chest. Not to wake him; just to feel him again. The previous night’s revelations, and the delightful consequences of those revelations, left Mike actually doubting whether any of it was true. If they hadn’t both been sleeping on the floor of the van, he would have seriously wondered whether the whole thing had been a dream. His subconscious had certainly come up with similar scenarios before.

Impossibly lush eyelashes parted to reveal eyes that spoke of espresso. For a heart-stopping second, Mike expected that Johnny would sit up in horror, realizing what had happened. But it was not so. Instead, Johnny’s hand joined Mike’s, fingers entwined, and that perfect, crooked smile melted away any lingering doubts.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” replied Mike. “How are ya?”

“Pretty darned good, Stoker. How ‘bout your gorgeous self?”

That remark drew a deep blush from Mike. “Can’t complain,” he said, smiling.

Johnny rolled himself to face Mike, propping himself on his elbow as well so they’d be at the same level. “I can hear the guys,” Johnny said softly. “We oughta get up before someone comes knocking.”

“Yeah, we oughta,” whispered Mike. Neither one of them moved. That is, until Mike snaked his now-shaky left arm around Johnny’s neck and pulled him close for a gentle kiss.

“Hey, your arm’s bugging you. Let’s get you comfy,” said Johnny, rolling Mike to his back again, and covering him with his own body.

“I thought you said we should get up!” whispered Mike, trying not to react vocally to the attention his neck was getting.

“Well, we should. Actually, I think _certain_ parts of us are getting ahead of the rest in the “up” department.”

Mike groaned as softly as he could manage. “Man, you’re killing me here. How do ya expect me to be able to leave the van if you keep doing this?”

“Simple – jeans, and a nice and long shirt. No problem!”

Mike sighed. “All right, then, _you_ go out first.”

Johnny shook his head. “Uh-uh, not yet. One more to face the day.” This time, he scooped his arm under Mike’s rib cage, and rolled Mike over onto him. Mike didn’t hesitate to take what was offered, but was mindful not only of his healing shoulder, but also of “facing the day,” and pulled away much, much sooner than he wanted to. He reluctantly stood up from the floor, found some jeans in his bag, and, with some uncomfortable maneuvering and stifled laughs from his companion, managed to put them on. He grabbed the longest shirt he had, which turned out not to provide nearly the coverage he was hoping for.

Johnny had better luck. Despite his slightly greater height, he was all leg, so nearly all his shirts, when not tucked in, did the trick. Mike admired the neatly wrapped package in front of him. He really wanted to unwrap it, but realistically, he knew he needed to save it for later.

Johnny inspected Mike’s attempts to dress himself with some semblance of decency. “Yeah, I definitely better go out first,” laughed Johnny. He turned to open the van’s door, but Mike caught him for one last kiss before he shoved Johnny out the door.

Johnny had to concentrate really hard on not laughing when he saw the sight that awaited him at the fire pit. Four bedraggled-looking, damp, cranky firemen sat at opposite corners of the fire, each nursing a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’, everyone! See, I told ya it’d rain!” he said cheerfully, as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Eight bleary eyes stared back at him, and nobody bothered to respond. Not wanting to press his luck, Johnny just sat quietly, sipping his coffee, listening to the birds, and grinning like an idiot.

After a few minutes, Stoker emerged from the van and joined the others at the fire. “Morning, guys. Who’d believe it’d turn out to be such a nice morning?” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to Roy.

“What the heck are you two so cheerful about?” grumbled Marco.

Stoker took a sip of the coffee that Johnny had handed him “Well, I guess we must’ve just had a better night’s uh, _night_ , than the rest of you guys.” He tried hard not to look at Johnny to see if he reacted at all, but couldn’t help himself. Mike was rewarded by seeing that the faintest tinge of a blush had emerged under his normal coloring.

Chet spoke up this time. “So, Gage, I guess since you’re so disgustingly cheerful and well rested this morning, Stoker must’ve not been snoring. Maybe I should just park my van at the station, ‘cause it seems to have cured the snoring.”

“Nah, I’m sure I snored some,” said Stoker. “Hey, Johnny, I hope I didn’t keep you _up_ for _too_ long,” he continued blandly, watching without expression as Johnny’s blush deepened.

“Well, I for one didn’t hear a thing over the rain,” said Marco. “At least that’s one good thing about the rain – we didn’t have to listen to Stoker’s chainsaw.”

“Anyone else around here hungry?” asked Gage, trying to change the subject.

“Well, I made the coffee, so someone else gets to make the eggs. How ‘bout you, Stoker, since you’re looking so darned cheerful,” said Cap. “Here ya go,” he said, tossing him the sealed plastic bag of powdered eggs. The hermetically sealed bag bounced harmlessly off Mike’s chest and landed in his lap. “Good luck getting that open with one hand!”

Stoker found the large skillet in the crate of cooking supplies. He fumbled for a minute, trying to open the package by tearing it, and then tried using his teeth.

“Gross, man! The rest of us don’t want your spit in our eggs!” complained Chet.

Stoker looked at Johnny. “Hey, Gage?” he asked innocently. “Got those handy-dandy all-purpose scissors on you?”

Johnny blushed, ever so slightly, once again. _This is going to be an interesting game,_ he thought.“Uh, sorry; I keep those on my uniform pants. Which I _didn’t_ bring!”

“No, of course not; jeans were a much better idea this morning anyhow,” replied Mike.

 _Holy shit,_ thought Johnny, _I am in_ _ **big**_ _trouble if he keeps this going all day!_

“Here, Mike, I’ll get it.” Roy opened the package with his pocket knife.

Johnny got a break from the stream of innuendos, as Stoker got to work cooking the eggs for breakfast. Johnny went around the circle with the coffee pot, topping everyone off to empty the pot. He dumped the grounds in the woods, and started a fresh pot. The guys looked like they needed it. And from how Mike was behaving, it sounded like he was going to need it himself, too.

“Guys, I’m gonna hang a line up between these trees here to try and dry out some damp stuff, so don’t walk into it, and decapitate yourselves, okay?” said Roy. He strung about five meters of rope between two mostly-dead trees – the sunniest area where there was a place to attach a line.

While they waited for Stoker to finish up cooking the eggs, the guys dragged all the damp things from their tents. Cap’s sleeping bag was soaked, but just at the feet. Marco’s and Chet’s tent had leaked a bit from a seam on the ceiling, so their bags were slightly damp all over.

By far the worst case, though, was Stoker’s gear, which Johnny hauled out of the van.

Stoker saw Johnny hanging his stuff up for him, and came over to help. “Eggs are ready!” he called to the guys.

“Hey, how’d your stuff get so soaked in the van, Gage?” asked Cap.

“Huh? Oh, it’s not mine, it’s his,” said Johnny, pointing at Stoker.

Cap rolled his eyes. “Okay, then, how’d his stuff get so soaked? Chet’s van leaking or something?”

“No, Mike just had the bright idea to sleep out under the stars. He got quite a surprise at about two a.m., didn’t you, Mike?” _See, I can do it too, Mikey!_

Mike had his back to Cap and Gage, so Johnny wasn’t able to see if he’d scored a point.

“Yep, I have to admit, I was not expecting that at all,” said Mike. “C’mon, guys, let’s go eat those eggs.”

Marco passed some fresh fruit around, and Johnny poured everyone still more coffee. Spirits started to improve as the men’s hungry bellies were filled and caffeine hit their bloodstreams. In short order, the food and a third pot of coffee were polished off, the dishes were washed, and the campsite was tidied.

“Hey, it’s getting awfully warm out now that the sun’s really up. Anyone wanna hit the swimming hole again?” asked Marco.

“Sure, I could go for that. It’s only gonna get hotter around here as the day goes on,” said Mike. Johnny suddenly dropped the plate he was drying, and it clattered on the stones around the fire pit. _Score!_ The fire was burned down to embers.

“I’m in,” said Roy. “But Marco, Johnny – how about you give us all a break from the cliff diving today. I don’t want yet another vacation that turns into a rescue operation.”

“Oh, all right, you worrywart,” said Marco. “Chet, you game?”

“What I’m really game for is a nap,” said Chet, “but all my stuff is still soaked, so maybe I’ll swim now, and nap later. Last one there buys tonight’s beer!” He took off at a run down the trail to the swimming hole.

“I didn’t hear anyone agree to that, did you?” asked Cap.

“Nope, not a thing,” agreed Roy.

“Hey, you guys coming, or what?” Marco asked Gage and Stoker. “You were the ones who were all gung ho this morning!”

“Just gonna help the one-armed bandit here take care of this campfire, then I’ll join up,” said Johnny.

“Right, Gage, you’ve got that picture of Smokey the Bear in your locker. What is it that Smokey says about putting out a campfire? Oh yeah: `If it’s too hot to touch, it’s too hot to leave.’ Ol’ Smokey’s got a good point, there,” continued Mike, as he poured another can of water over the steaming ashes and stirred once more. “You should never walk away from something that’s too hot to touch. We’ll catch up with you guys.”

“All right, see you in a bit,” said Roy, as their group headed down the trail after Chet.

As soon as Cap, Roy, and Marco were out of earshot, Johnny snapped Mike’s rear with the dishtowel he had over his shoulder. He grinned hugely, and said, “You’re torturing me here, Mike!”

Mike grinned back, even more hugely. “Well, revenge is sweet.”

“Huh?” asked Johnny.

“Well, I have six years’ payback to dish out,” declared Mike.

“Uh, payback for what? What’d I do?”

“Existed, Gage. You just existed, and you drove me crazy every shift. So, I figure it’s my turn.”

_________

The guys swam at the excellent swimming hole for most of the morning. By the time noon rolled around, the four who hadn’t slept well because of the rain were ready for naps. Everyone headed back to the campsite to grab some quick PB&J. Cap, having slept the worst of all of them, was particularly cranky, so everyone stayed out of his way as best they could.

“Hey Mike,” Marco said around a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich, “you oughta get Johnny here to show you what he did for PT when he dislocated his shoulder a couple years back.”

“And don’t forget about me,” added Chet. “Remember when that abandoned building caved in on me? Man, I really busted up my shoulder that time. Cast, and everything. And lemme tell you, there’s not much that smells worse than an armpit that’s been in a cast for three weeks.”

“Aw, man,” said Johnny, “you just spoiled my appetite. Way to go, Kelly. That’s pretty hard to do. Gross,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Watch out, Kelly, or somebody’s liable to kick your ass. Which won’t smell too good after a month in a cast either,” added Stoker, punctuating his comment with a waving sandwich.

“Enough, damn it! You twits are making me ill!” said Hank. “But I have to say, anyone who can wreck Gage’s appetite is, well, very talented.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “I’d say. Full of surprises.”

“Why thanks, Gagey baby,” said Chet. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Mike just smiled. He knew that comment was not for Chet.

“Oh hey, Cap, c’n I borrow your car while everyone’s sacked out? I saw a store down the road from the park entrance, and we’re definitely short on beer. And I guess maybe some other stuff, too,” suggested Johnny.

“Sure thing – keys are on the right front tire. Say, we oughta make a dinner plan. Whaddaya say, guys? Are Gage’s culinary skills up to burgers and dogs?”

“As far as I know,” said Roy, “that’s the total extent of his skills, so I’ll chance it.”

“Great – Gage, you’re drafted for dinner duty. Try not to poison us all, though,” added Cap.

“I’ll go with him, and make sure he gets us a balanced meal,” said Stoker. “At least, more balanced than a beer in one hand and a burger in the other.”

As Johnny and Mike headed off in Cap’s Oldsmobile, the other guys headed for slumberland.

_______

Mike and Johnny took about an hour and a half getting groceries, loading the cooler with ice and beer, and getting back to the campsite. They found that the whole area was silent. Chet was zonked out leaned up against a tree, Roy had fallen asleep in the front seat of the van with a book, and Cap and Marco had actually gone into their tents to sleep for real. The two shoppers left the purchases in the trunk of the car, so as not to wake their friends.

“Wanna hit the swimming hole again?” Johnny whispered.

“Nah, I think it’s actually not doing my shoulder a whole lot of good – the water’s kinda cold after a while,” Mike said quietly. “Actually, do you seriously know how to rehab a shoulder? It wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.”

“Yeah, sure thing. You should get some aspirin on board first – keep the swelling down.”

“Shoot, it’s in the van – and I don’t wanna wake up Roy,” said Mike.

“Aw, that’s all right – I’ll get it. When he’s out, he’s out.” Johnny trotted over to the van, opened the sliding door as quietly as he could, and was back in five seconds with two aspirins. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” Mike grabbed a mug and washed the tablets down with some water.

“All right, so did they show you what all is in your shoulder joint?” asked Johnny?

“Not really. I guess there’s a collar bone and a shoulder blade, but I’m not actually even sure where one starts and the other ends,” Mike said sheepishly.

“Well,” said Johnny, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here, but first thing we gotta do is get that shirt off, so you can see what I’m talking about.”

“’kay,” said Mike through his grin, wrangling the sling and, since it was dry and he could manage it on his own, the t-shirt. “Still no scissors, huh?”

“Oh, just you wait till later, my friend,” Johnny said softly enough that none of the other guys could hear in case they were awake. He sat Mike on the ground in front of him, with Mike’s back to his front. Then in a more normal tone, he said, “Okay, c’mere. This here’s your collar bone,” he said, tracing the length of the bone with one finger, in a very, very, non-clinical way, “and over here is the top of your arm bone – the humerus – which is the ball part in the ball-and-socket join. And in the back, here, is your shoulder blade, and part of that makes the socket.” He spanned the width of the scapula with his hand, letting it linger.

“Oh, and I forgot the one thing that my physical therapist would always say when he started working on me. Very important,” Johnny said seriously.

“What?” asked Mike nervously, worried that it was going to be something like “Okay, this is really gonna hurt.”

Johnny leaned forward, hand still spanning Mike’s shoulder blade, and whispered right in Mike’s ear, “I have to touch you to show you this. Is that okay?” He watched with glee as the hairs on the back of Mike’s neck stood up. “Always very important to ask permission – wouldn’t wanna offend anyone.”

“I hereby give you blanket permission,” Mike intoned solemnly.

Johnny looked around to make sure the rest of the guys were still asleep, and slowly ran his hand all the way down Mike’s well-muscled back, and then returned it, equally slowly, to the joint in question. “Good, that’ll be helpful.”

Johnny found Mike’s uninjured shoulder for another demo. “Okay, I’m gonna show you this on the good shoulder first. It’s _very_ good, by the way,” he added in a whisper, and continued in a regular tone. “This spot here is where the collar bone meets part of the shoulder blade – and I could tell from how it looked when you first dislocated it that this part was outta joint, and it’s prob’ly a real sore spot on the bad side, right?”

“Man, you bet. Every time I try to move my shoulder, that’s the spot that makes me stop.”

“Yeah, that’s what happened with mine, too. It’s probably because the ligament in there – that’s what connects bones together – got real stretched out. Anyhow, the whole shoulder joint kinda freezes up if you immobilize it for a while. But the problem is, you gotta immobilize it so the damaged ligaments and muscles get a chance to heal. Then, the real work is getting everything moving again, and getting the muscles you didn’t use strong again – partly ‘cause they get weak from not getting used, and partly ‘cause you want everything strong and balanced to help keep the joint from dislocating again.” The whole time he was delivering his mini-lecture, Johnny was gently massaging the muscles around Mike’s left shoulder.

“Makes sense,” Mike said weakly.

“So getting it to all move again can kinda be a bitch,” said Johnny. “I really don’t wanna hurt you, but let’s see how far it can move now. Go real slow, and do this –” he demonstrated raising his own arm out straight from his side, “and then this—” then he raised his hand like asking a question in class. “Go for a good stretch, but not to the point of real pain. He sat back and watched. Mike barely got his arm parallel to the ground on the first movement, and was only able to raise his hand about as high as his head on the second movement.

“Ow,” complained Stoker, “and ow.” He growled in disgust. “This is pathetic.”

“Hey, relax – gotta be patient with yourself, right?” Again looking to see that the other eight eyes were still closed, he stroked Mike’s shoulder gently. “Let’s see what happens if I move your arm – just relax all the muscles, and let me do all the work. Gimme a good “ow” when I move it too far, ‘kay?”

Mike nodded, and put his shoulder in Johnny’s excellent hands. Johnny straightened Mike’s arm out, and held the whole arm out parallel to the ground. “Okay, don’t fight me, but don’t help me, either.”

He gently raised the arm past horizontal by ten degrees, then twenty, till Mike said “okay, ‘nough.”

“Hey, not bad – that was a good twenty degrees farther than when you did it. Now let’s try the other way – like you’re asking a question.” Johnny again took Mike’s hand, and bent the arm at the elbow, pulling his hand straight up. He got Mike’s hand a good six inches higher than it had gotten on Mike’s first attempt, when Mike said “ow.”

“That one’s tougher, huh,” sympathized Johnny.

“Yeah,” said Mike, shakily. “PT’s gonna suck, isn’t it,” he said.

“Pretty much,” said Johnny, “but it doesn’t suck as much as sitting home on medical leave.”

“True, true,” said Mike. “Let’s try it again.”

“Ya sure?”

Mike nodded, and Johnny went through each range of motion exercise again.

“Okay, I think I’ve had it for now,” said Mike.

“Can I work out the kinks?” asked Johnny. He leaned forward and whispered, “Pretty please?”

“Yeah, for sure, but we gotta keep our eyes open,” Mike said nervously, “and I’m definitely gonna need an ice pack. For my shoulder.”

“Well, lemme get that for ya first, and then if anyone catches me with my hands all over you it won’t look as bad,” he said right into Mike’s ear.

But as Johnny found a plastic bag and filled it with ice from the cooler, Roy emerged from the van with his book.

“Hey guys, what’s goin’ on?” Roy asked blearily.

“Oh, just gettin’ Mikey here an ice pack. We just did some range of motion stuff,” explained Johnny.

“Ouch,” said Roy, “sorry to hear that. He treating you okay, Mike?”

“No complaints,” said Mike. “Thanks,” he said to Johnny, who handed him the bag of ice.

One by one, the others emerged from their naps, looking and behaving more like themselves. It was late afternoon, so they started getting the dinner supplies together.

“Whaddaya think, sailors,” asked Chet, “is the sun over the yardarm? Time for a beer?”

“Yeah, bring it on, Kelly,” said Roy.

“All right, Johnny Weatherman, what does your leg say about tonight?” asked Marco. “Are we all going to freeze and get soaked again?”

“Nah, I think it’ll be plenty warm. In fact, it might even get quite hot,” said Johnny. He glanced at Mike, and saw out of the corner of his eye that his favorite engineer was covering a deep blush by rummaging through the crate of dishes for nothing in particular. _Gotcha!_

Everyone found something remotely useful to do. The fire was started, carrots were peeled and cut into sticks, and, of course, beers were consumed.

Johnny rubbed his hands together briskly. “Okay, gentlemen, Gage’s finest burgers and dogs are going on the grill!” He busily flipped and rolled the burgers and dogs till everything seemed done. “Okay, I cooked, so somebody else dishes up. Chet, you’ve been looking lazy – you’re up!”

“All right, gimme that spatula then. Chef is first – what’ll it be, Gage?” asked Chet.

“How ‘bout one of each – to start with,” said Johnny. Chet loaded his plate.

“Cap?” asked Chet.

“Oh, just a burger for me, thanks.”

“And Stoker, what do you want from this mess?”

“I’ll take whatever Gage has – that looks pretty good,” said Mike. He knew if there’d been a table, Johnny would’ve kicked him under it for that one.

Chet served the rest of the guys, and sat down with his own supper.

Talking with his mouth full, Johnny asked, “Hey, Chet, send me that ketchup—no, don’t throw it! Ah, I’ll just get it, never mind.” He stood up to get the ketchup by foot rather than airmail.

“Hey John, as long as you’re up... you’ve got two good hands – open me another beer, will ya?” asked Mike. _I bet I’m really gonna get it, later_ , he thought with glee, as Johnny shot him a look, but delivered the beer.

The six men quickly polished off the meal, and sat contentedly around the fire as the sun went down.

“Hey, I almost forgot!” said Johnny, running back to Cap’s car for one more shopping bag. He returned with the bag, and unloaded graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

“Far out! S’mores!” said Chet. “Man, I don’t think I’ve had these since I was twelve, at Boy Scout camp!”

“You were a Boy Scout?” Johnny laughed. “I just can’t picture that.”

“Okay, who else was a scout?” asked Roy. “I was.”

“Well of course _you_ were, Roy. Not me—wasn’t the thing on the reservation, even if they woulda let us in,” said Johnny.

“I was,” said Stoker.

“Well ya still are, Stoker. Squarest one of all of us,” said Chet.

“Chet, you ass,” said Cap, “knock it off.”

“Aw, that’s all right, Cap,” said Mike. “I can give just as good as I get when I put my mind to it,” he said, grinning.

Suitable marshmallow sticks were located and sharpened. Marshmallows were toasted, and by late in the evening, so were all the men.

“Hey, shoot me another brew, Kelly,” said Mike.

“Geez, Stoker – aren’t you worried Gage is gonna get you drunk and take advantage of you?” asked Chet.

“Nah, I’m not worried about that at all,” Stoker replied. “Nope.”

Johnny started coughing and hacking. “Sorry – ate some campfire smoke,” he lied.

“Well, kids, time for an old man like me to sleep it off. Don’t stay up too late, huh?” said Cap.

“Okay, Dad,” Marco practically giggled.

“Oh, boy.” Cap rolled his eyes. “And Stoker,” he added, “Don’t let that lightweight you’ve got there get _too_ drunk, all right?”

“That’s okay, Cap; I can handle him just fine,” Stoker said.

Johnny, Mike, and Roy watched with amusement as Chet and Marco got completely, utterly plastered.

“Whaddaya think, Roy, should we put these two drunks to bed before we hafta carry `em?” suggested Johnny. He himself had stayed well behind the others in the bottle count – truth be told, he didn’t care for the stuff much, and plus, he didn’t want to, well, miss anything. He kept a watchful eye on Mike’s collection of empties and noted with amusement that Mike appeared to be doing the same.

“Yah,” said Roy, “you take Marco and I’ll take Chet.”

“I’ll put their stuff in their tent – it’s still all hanging up on the line,” said Mike. He wanted to be helpful, but he also had the ulterior motive of shuffling everyone off to their tents sooner rather than later.

Between the three of them, Chet and Marco were put into their tent, amidst much laughing and complaining. Roy had the nasty job of getting their shoes off once they were in their tents. They decided just to leave them in their clothes.

After that little task was done, Roy, Johnny, and Mike sat around the fire for a few more minutes. Mike wasn’t totally sure, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, Roy was playing chaperone. That thought evoked what seemed to Johnny and Roy like completely unprovoked laughter.

“What’s so funny, Mike?” asked Roy. Johnny didn’t have to ask – there were so many things it could’ve been, and he was sure he’d find out soon enough.

“Oh, nothing,” Mike fibbed. “Just Chet and Marco.”

“Yeah, they’re gonna be plenty sorry in the morning,” Roy said wryly. “Speaking of which – I better go claim some real estate in that tent before our Captain takes it all. G’night, guys.”

“Night, Roy,” said Johnny. “Shouldn’t be any rain tonight, so sleep well.”

“Yeah, you guys too.” He staggered off to the tent, and didn’t catch the look between the other two.

They were silent, until they heard the tent being zipped up. Finally, Mike leaned into Johnny, and whispered in his ear, “Holy fuck, I thought they’d never leave. Now let’s put out this fire and go start another one.”

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Cookouts and Campfires**

**Chapter 3.**

Johnny shut the sliding door of the van, as Mike abandoned his sling and made sure all the doors were locked. They tossed their shoes into the front seats, and met breathlessly under the center of the pop-up top. There was just enough light that they could see each other. 

“Hot damn,” whispered Mike. “I’ve been waiting all day to get my hands on you.” He worked on untucking Johnny’s flannel shirt from the waistband of his jeans, and was finally able to slide both hands under the t-shirt Johnny had on under the warm flannel. He enjoyed the feel of the smooth, hot skin and the taut muscles underneath.

Johnny ran his hands through Mike’s hair, pulled him even closer, and kissed him full on the lips. Their tongues found each other, and echoed the caressing movements of their hands on each other’s bodies. Mike found himself wishing that the range of motion in his shoulder was better, simply so he could feel more of that fabulous skin.

“Mmm,” said Johnny, pulling back slightly. “Very, very tasty.” He went back for seconds, which turned into minutes, enjoying the feeling of Mike’s hands roaming all over him. He turned his attention to Mike’s neck, worked back up to an earlobe, but then hesitated, and sighed a little. “Hey Mike?” he whispered.

“Mm-hm?” was all Mike could manage at that moment.

“I gotta tell you something.” 

Those words made Mike freeze, and made his heart drop into his feet. _Shit. I know what’s coming now: `This is a big mistake,’ or ‘I can’t do this,’ – that’s what’s coming. I knew it_.

Mike exhaled slowly, kept his hands to himself, took a step backwards, and looked at Johnny, to face the music. “Okay, Johnny. Tell me,” he sighed. Mike sat down on the bunk, and patted the spot next to him. Johnny took the offered seat.

Johnny took Mike’s hand – _that was unexpected_ – and looked him in the eye. “Well, I guess I have a kind of, um, bad reputation. For, I guess, being a jerk, or, um,” he said nervously, looking away, “or maybe for, uh, just tryin’ to get some, and then not caring.”

“Yeah,” said Mike, neutrally, “that’s possibly something that’s been said around the department.” _And here it comes. He’s gonna tell me this can only be a one-shot, don’t take this too seriously, et cetera, blah blah blah. I know._

“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, um, I _do_ care.” Johnny looked down at his feet, still holding Mike’s hand. 

_Huh?_ thought Mike.

“Huh?” he said aloud.

“I care – a _lot_ – about what’s happening here,” Johnny said softly, looking Mike in the eye again. “So if you don’t – care, I mean – then we shouldn’t, um, do anything, ya know? So nobody gets... Damn, I’m no good at this,” he swore quietly, looking away.

Mike considered Johnny’s unexpected but heartfelt, if inelegant, words, and tried to make his brain work again to formulate a response. He had to think carefully about how to phrase the question he had, so as not to offend, but he needed to know the answer.

“Do you deserve your reputation?”

Johnny winced a little, but didn’t back away, and didn’t let go of Mike’s hand. 

“I guess. I uh, don’t let people get close, is the problem. Push ‘em away.”

Mike reached over to smooth Johnny’s hair out of his eyes. “And what would be different this time?” he asked gently, touched by Johnny’s honesty.

“What’s different is, you already know me, and you still seem to like me all right, even though I act like an idiot half the time,” said Johnny. 

“I do like you – but not just ‘all right’ – a _lot_. And you know what else?” Mike didn’t wait for an answer. “I think ‘ _act_ like an idiot’ is exactly the right phrase, ‘cause from what I can tell—and believe me, I’ve been paying attention— you’re anything _but_ an idiot. And anyone who really knows you can tell that.”

Mike could feel Johnny’s body relax next to him, so Mike leaned into him a bit.

“Okay,” said Johnny, quietly, not protesting Mike’s pronouncement, or his closeness. “But _you_ didn’t answer _my_ question.”

Mike hadn’t forgotten, and he also wasn’t about to point out the Johnny hadn’t actually _asked_ a question. He just said, “I do care, Johnny. I care a whole lot. I’m sorry you didn’t realize.”

“Okay. Me too,” whispered Johnny. His face was still downcast, and he looked a little sad.

Mike just couldn’t stand that look. He stood up, and pulled Johnny up with him. He returned his hands around Johnny’s back to where they’d been busy before, and his lips made themselves at home on Johnny’s cheekbones, eyelids, and anywhere else they seemed necessary. 

“And now that all our chaperones are down for the count, whaddaya say we get down to business, Gage,” Mike whispered. “Or at least get down to below the windows, here. That’s an awfully bright moon out there.”

“I don’t think anybody’s looking,” said Johnny, as he started undoing the buttons down the front of Mike’s shirt. “We did a pretty good job of gettin’ ‘em all good ‘n’ trashed.”

“Yeah, that was a pretty good plan you had, puttin’ a six-pack in front of each of the guys, and refilling it each time a bottle got killed,” said Mike. “Very sneaky. But still, they may be smashed, but they’re out there. And much as I hate to say it, rule number one has to be don’t be seen.”

“Or heard,” whispered Johnny. “Shit.”

“I think we can probably manage to have some pretty quiet fun in here, though, don’t you?”

“Let’s find out,” said Johnny wickedly, as he flung the mattress off the bunk onto the floor next to the other, and pulled Mike close. He’d finished with the buttons, and slid the shirt off Mike’s shoulders, and gently worked the t-shirt off. “See, I don’t need no scissors,” he pretended to boast, as he buried his face in Mike’s chest. 

Mike’s breathing picked up as Johnny’s hands went for the belt buckle at the same time as his tongue got busy with a nipple. Mike buried his hands and face in Johnny’s hair, breathing in the heady pheromones of a day of filled with flirting and sexual tension. 

Mike’s belt buckle surrendered, followed by the button on his jeans. “So,” asked Johnny slyly, “do I still have that blanket permission to put my hands on ya?”

“Oh yeah, long as it works both ways,” murmured Mike, “`cause I totally want to … uhhh,” he moaned softly, as the zipper went down, and Johnny slid Mike’s jeans off his hips, past his boxers, and down to the floor, “um, yeah, I mean, you go right ahead and put those great hands anywhere ya want.” 

Johnny admired Mike’s physique with his eyes and his hands. Sure, the guys all saw each other in nothing but their shorts all the time, but it was oh so different when hands could be involved, too. The distention of the front of Mike’s boxers added to the difference, as well. 

“I think that blanket permission definitely works both ways – wanna strip me down?” purred Johnny.

Mike answered him by starting in on the buttons of Johnny’s flannel shirt. “Wish you had your fuckin’ scissors, man, ‘cause my hands are just way too slow, and I want you totally naked right now!”

“Way I see it, babe, is you drove me nuts all day, so I’m just gonna let you wait. Consider it part of your PT, Stoker,” Johnny teased gently, right in Mike’s ear. “Buttons, buckles, zippers – all good therapy, dontcha think?”

Mike finished the last button on the flannel shirt, and flung the superfluous item to the front of the van with all the other things they didn’t need. Johnny kindly helped with the t-shirt removal by raising his arms up, but succeeded in whacking his knuckles with a resounding _clang_ on the ceiling of the van. Though it was plenty painful, he dissolved in not-entirely-silent laughter at the expression on Mike’s face at the sudden loud noise.

“Don’t worry, that’s one sound I think we could explain,” laughed Johnny. He staggered forwards on the foam mattresses on the van’s floor as Mike pulled him by the waistband, and got to work on the project of divesting him of his jeans. Mike made surprisingly swift work of this project, and was _very_ pleased with the results. Especially since the boxers had come away with the jeans, and were now in the front seat with the rest of the debris.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” breathed Mike, staring at the glorious sight in front of him. “Shit, I wish I could turn the light on, get a better look at every last bit of you...”

“We’ll put that as Item One on our list of things to do when we get home,” said Johnny, grinning, as he finally removed Mike’s boxers. “Mm, yum,” he whispered, pulling Mike gently down to kneel on the foam mattresses on the floor. “Let’s start putting all that blanket permission stuff to work, huh?”

Their mouths found each other’s again, as they knelt in front of each other. Mike laid Johnny out flat on his back, and started taking some serious liberties with his blanket permission. His hands led, and his mouth followed, taking turns nibbling and caressing each nipple, each rib, each ab muscle. Every new area that he explored drew a small sigh or moan from Johnny. Stoker worked his way down one hip bone, then up, and across to the other, homing in on his main target. Slowly but surely, his lips, tongue, and hands approached the handsomely erect cock that was their goal. Johnny started to lose himself in the sensations. Each time Johnny’s moans got a little too loud for their circumstances, Mike backed off to let him settle. 

Though he was absolutely enjoying this game, Johnny finally had to speak up. “Uhhh, time out, time out,” he groaned softly. Mike reined in his hands and mouth, and just snuggled Johnny for a few minutes, till Johnny could talk again.

“Hey Stoker?” whispered Johnny. 

“Hmm?” 

“Ya know how I feel about rules, but I think we need a rule I’m _really_ gonna hate.”

“Okay,” Mike said, hoping like hell Johnny wasn’t gonna make him stop all together.

“Just hands. Damn, I hate this rule already. But I think I can only stay quiet enough for us not to get busted if we stick to just hands on the cocks,” Johnny whispered. “’Cause I’ll tell ya right now – if you get that sweet mouth any closer to my dick, no _way_ we’re not gonna get busted, man.”

“Mm,” replied Stoker. “That’s okay – I bet we’ll have plenty of fun, and it leaves us more for the list of things to do at home. Item Two: make John Gage scream out loud, _without_ using any hands.”

“Is that a promise?” Johnny whispered.

“You bet your fine ass it is,” Mike said, squeezing half of the anatomy in question. “And as long as we’re making, uh, safety rules, how ‘bout this – whoever’s, um, in charge? — has to give the other guy something to yell into when the time, ah, comes.”

Mike was pretty sure this whole “quiet fun” game appealed to the risk-taking side of Johnny’s personality in a big way. And Mike was more than happy to play along.

“I sure like how you’re thinkin’,” said Johnny. “This is an awfully good game, Stoker. You’re evil, ya know that?” He flipped Stoker onto his back, and took charge of him for a little while. He lavished kisses on his face and neck, and ravished Mike’s chest and belly with teeth, tongue, and lips. He worked his way back up to Stoker’s lips, and their tongues found each other, while Johnny’s hands continued their work on Mike’s body. 

Stoker’s hands found many things they liked as well – Johnny’s back muscles were finely developed, and his lack of both body fat and body hair let Stoker feel every ridge, every valley. 

“Well, looky what I found,” said Johnny, as he worked his way lower down. “This engineer has some might fine equipment for me to work with, here. Looks like the engineer has charged his line, too, which is good, ‘cause I’m gonna use it now. But I’m a good little fireman, and I’ll remember the rules – just hands,” he said, running his fingertips along the underside of Mike’s cock, “like this,” he said, enjoying Mike’s sighs and the expression on his face. “And maybe like this—” a firmer grasp elicited a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. He moved his hand up and down, firmly but slowly at first. “Oh yeah, definitely getting some more pressure in this line.” He took his time working with the equipment. It was always helpful for the lineman to stay in tune with the engineer, and vice versa, and this pair seemed to be reading each other’s signals perfectly.

“Johnny? Uh! I … oh man, it’s …” Johnny took care of covering the crescendo in Mike’s sounds by kissing him firmly on the mouth, while continuing his handiwork below. He enjoyed hearing and feeling Mike’s moans coming right into him. After a minute, Mike pulled his mouth back from Johnny’s.

“I need …” Johnny moved his hand faster, “uh, harder …” and Johnny happily complied, watching Mike’s face. Mike was breathing hard and fast, and his pupils were dilated – not just because of the dim light. “Oh, fuck, I uh …”

Johnny smiled, and with his free hand, grabbed the pillow from his bedroll and put it right in Stoker’s hands. “Here ya go, babe. And here you go,” he said, picking up the pace and pressure. Stoker was helping out, pushing back up at Johnny’s hand. Veins popped out in Mike’s neck, and his eyes rolled back, as he pressed his face into the pillow and let out loud groans, suitably muffled, as he came with wave after wave of ecstasy, and jets of pearly semen erupted onto both their abdomens. 

Johnny held Mike for a while, kissing and stroking him, till he came to his senses again. Mike opened his eyes, and looked satedly at Johnny. “Fuuuuuuck me,” he sighed, “that was intense.” 

“All right! Item Three!” whispered Gage. “This list is getting better and better!”

“Huh?” said Mike blearily. “What’s Item Three?”

“Well, I _thought_ I just heard someone say ‘fuck me,’ so there we go!” 

Mike chuckled. “I’m liking this list, Gage.”

“And I’m liking what we’re doing right now,” said Johnny. Without another word, he hauled Mike over on top of him, and set his hands to work exploring the side of Mike he felt he’d neglected so far. He found delicious back muscles, and was particularly fond of the place where Mike’s lower back met his firm ass, and let his hands spend some time exploring that area. All the while, both men were keenly aware of Johnny’s long, solid cock trapped between them. 

Mike rolled over a bit, as his shoulder wasn’t yet up to holding up half his body weight, and plus, he had a few things he wanted to do with his hands. He found he could prop himself comfortably on his right elbow, but that left only his weak left arm to do anything important. He made a frustrated little sound, which got Johnny’s attention.

“Whatsa matter? You okay?”

Mike was touched by Johnny’s concern. “Believe me, I’m _great_. But I’m annoyed that I have only one hand to work with here, and a pretty damned clumsy one at that.”

Johnny laughed quietly, and whispered right in his ear. “C’n I tell ya a secret?”

“Yeah, I’m all ears,” said Mike, as Johnny’s tongue found its way around first one earlobe, then the other.

“You get me so fuckin’ hot that it ain’t gonna take a whole lotta work to get the job done, Stoker.”

That comment sent chills down Mike’s spine and heat due south to his groin. “Oh, but I don’t wanna just get the job _done_. I mean, anything worth doing is worth doing right, right?”

“Way I see it? There’s lots and lots and _lots_ of right ways. And we gotta pick one to start with, huh? Plus, we got aaaalllll night, Mike.” Johnny leered and wiggled his eyebrows in his trademark fashion.

Mike grinned at that. “Well, let’s explore some options, then. How do ya want it, Gage? Slow torture? Hard and fast? You name it, I’ve got it.” He was pretty sure what the answer was gonna be.

“Oooh boy,” said Johnny, “do me hard and fast, Stoker. We’ve been doing slow torture all day, and I’m—” 

His words were abruptly cut off by Mike’s mouth assaulting his own, and Mike’s body thoroughly covering his own. Though Mike realized it might have technically been against the rules, he ground his groin into Johnny’s, while letting his hands go wherever they seemed to be doing the most good. He could tell from Johnny’s reactions that things were going just according to plan. 

When it seemed like the right time, he rolled his body off Johnny’s, pulled Johnny to a sitting position, and sat behind him, chest to back. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” panted Johnny. He reached for his own cock, but his hands were swatted away.

“Uh-uh,” whispered Mike, “all your hands get to do is this,” he said, handing Johnny the pillow. “Are you gonna remember to use it?” he murmured, as he reached around from behind and grabbed a solid hold on Johnny’s cock, at the same time using his teeth and tongue on his neck. His good hand gave a new definition to the phrase “hard and fast.” 

Mike didn’t trust Johnny at all to remember to use the silencer, so when he could tell that Johnny was about to come, he reached around with his left hand just in time to help Johnny bring the pillow up to his mouth to muffle a series of shuddering groans so powerful that Mike could feel the sound through Johnny’s back, and into his own chest. 

When the groans turned to panting whimpers, Mike switched around so he was in front of Johnny, holding him up the whole while, and wrapped his arms and legs around Johnny’s trembling frame. Johnny rested his forehead on Mike’s shoulder, forgetting that it was still injured, but Mike didn’t even notice. 

After several minutes, Mike needed to see Johnny’s face again. He gently raised Johnny’s face by placing both hands on his cheeks, and searched his eyes. He saw bliss, and calm, and total peace. 

Johnny reached behind Mike, pulled him close, and lowered the two of them back down to the foam mattress. They lay chest to chest, belly to sticky belly, groin to groin, for many minutes, caressing, fondling, touching as they saw fit. They kissed gently and deeply for a long time. Johnny sighed, and Mike could see that the sigh came with a smile. 

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Mike.

Johnny looked into Mike’s blue eyes, and stroked his hair. “Whaddaya think – does that count as sex?”

Mike smiled back. “Nope.”

Johnny looked worried. “How come not? Sure felt that way to me!”

“Because, Johnny, that wasn’t sex – that was making love. That’s what happens when you care.”

Johnny was silent for a moment, but still had the blissful look. “Stoker, I think you’re absolutely right. And ya know what else? I don’t think we’re done, either.” 

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Cookouts and Campfires**

 **Chapter 4.**

It was nearly three a.m., several hours after the campfire had been doused, and Mike Stoker could barely keep his eyes open any more. But he also couldn’t bear to put a stop to the night’s activities for the sake of boring, mundane, completely unstimulating sleep.

Johnny’s head rested on Mike’s bare chest. Mike stroked and ran his fingers through the dark, thick, non-regulation hair that Johnny seemed to be able to get away with.

“Hey, Johnny?” he whispered.

“Mmmm?”

“You still awake?”

“Nuh-uh... ya did me in, Stoker.”

Mike chuckled.

“Whasso funny?” mumbled Johnny.

“I guess I’m in trouble, ‘cause it gets me really hot when you call me ‘Stoker.’ Go figure.”

“Well, ya do stoke me up. Hafta ‘member that on shift, too; get ya real good sometime...” Johnny’s voice trailed off, and his breathing became deep and regular.

Mike arranged his pillows to make his shoulder more comfortable, and gently adjusted the warm body draped over his own. He pulled the sleeping bag over the two of them, and finally allowed himself to drift off.

~!~!~!

Johnny sat bolt upright, woken by strong, loud vibrations. Was it an earthquake? He tried to step out of his bunk into his boots and bunker pants, figuring the tones would sound at any second if there had in fact been a major tremor. But the rumbling continued, and his feet couldn’t find his boots in the dim light.

 _Oh_.

Mike snored again, loudly, and Johnny smiled as he realized where he was, and what the rumbling vibrations were. He lay back down next to his companion. He was about to try to gently roll Mike to his right side, to avoid hurting that sore left shoulder, when a voice yelled out from the campsite.

“Shut the hell up, Stoker!” Chet shouted. “Jesus Christ, Gage, can’t you keep him quiet?”

Johnny grinned – Chet had _no_ idea how much work had gone into that task. Johnny could just barely hear the three other men in the tents berating Chet for being so noisy. All four men in the tents were somewhere between still drunk and just getting started with nasty hangovers, so they would appreciate neither Stoker’s snoring nor Chet’s shouting about it.

Johnny decided to risk trying to roll Mike over. He climbed over to Mike’s left side, and set about turning him to his right side. Mike swatted at him with his left hand—the action must have been painful, because Mike woke with a start.

“Wha— ow!” He looked around – the sun was just starting to come up, so he was able to see Johnny’s apologetic expression.

“Sorry!” Johnny whispered. “You were snoring, and Chet yelled at you, so I was trying to roll you over. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“’s okay,” Mike said sleepily. “C’mere.” He rolled onto his right side, and pulled Johnny’s arm over him, holding Johnny’s arm to his own chest. Johnny snuggled up to him, spoon-style, nuzzling into the back of Mike’s neck.

“Mmmm, you smell sexy as hell,” said Johnny.

“Van smells like a cathouse,” Mike replied. “Better air it out good, huh?”

“Yeah, but not yet.”

~!~!~!~

There were no more complaints from the tents. Johnny and Mike kept themselves both busy and quiet for another hour or so, as the sun came most of the way up. Finally, they decided to tidy up the van and start packing up their gear.

“Hey, Johnny – how ‘bout we sneak down to the swimming hole, clean up a bit?” suggested Mike. “I doubt the other guys are gonna be up for a while yet, and we can’t exactly run around smellin’ like this!”

They put on their trunks, grabbed their towels, and opened the door of the van as quietly as possible.

“Might as well open the windows, too – this place needs all the fresh air it can get!” said Johnny.

“Hey, here’s another idea,” said Mike. He grabbed a bucket and set it on a large rock just outside Chet and Marco’s tent, along with two large cups of water and his bottle of aspirin.

Johnny snickered quietly, imagining the hangovers the tent’s occupants would be facing soon. “Can’t decide if that’s kindness or cruelty,” he commented.

“Oh, a little of both, I s’pose.”

They padded quietly down the trail to the swimming hole for some final time alone before the camping trip would have to end.

~!~!~!~

Hank Stanley awoke with a groan. _I’m too old for this nonsense_ , he thought, zipping the tent open quietly so as not to wake Roy, who was still out cold. Hank felt only mildly hung over, but was kicking himself for going even that far with the drinking the previous night. He was dreading the awakening of the rest of his crew. Even though Hank had retired much earlier than the rest of the men, he could tell that there was some serious drinking planned for the evening. He’d dozed off and been awakened again several times, before finally hearing what sounded like Roy and John having a pretty tough time putting Chet and Marco to bed.

If Roy and John and Mike had stayed up much longer, they were quiet about it. The only other disruption to the night’s rest was some snoring from the van, and Chet’s still-drunken swearing at John to keep Stoker quiet, as if John could do anything about it.

Once again, as the first one up, Hank started the fire and the coffee. He made the brew extra strong – if he needed it, then the rest of the guys were sure to as well.

As he set up the fire, he heard a tent zipper open. He turned to see who was emerging. It was Roy, looking pale and green. Roy waved to Hank, but headed far out into the woods without coming to the fire first. Cap could just barely hear the retching sounds, and winced in sympathy. He poured a large cup of water, and handed it to Roy as he returned to the campsite.

“Thanks,” said Roy, sipping the water cautiously. “Bleah, I feel like crap. I’m officially too old for this,” he said sheepishly. “Next time I vote we bring the wives, just to keep us in line.”

“And from what I could hear last night, if _you’re_ not feeling so good, then the rest of the guys are in for a world of hurt,” commented Cap.

Roy chuckled. “Chet and Marco, for sure. Man, Johnny and I literally had to put them to bed. Marco could at least help a little bit, but Chet was a two-man carry.”

“Great,” said Cap. “How about Stoker and Gage?”

Roy scratched his head. “I dunno, Cap. They were still up when I turned in. I gotta tell ya, though, I don’t think they were really drinking much.”

“Huh,” said Cap, “I’d’ve thought Gage would’ve been taking the hangover prize this morning. He was certainly acting oddly yesterday – probably just gloating that he was right about the weather.”

“Hmph. Could be. Stoker was more talkative than usual yesterday, I noticed,” said Roy, “though that wouldn’t be hard, I suppose. I guess he must’ve slept pretty well too, after not hardly sleeping the night before.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Roy – didn’t you hear? He decided to sleep outside the second night, and ended up getting poured on in the middle of the night. His gear was wetter than anyone’s,” said Cap. “I can’t figure why he’d do that – can’t imagine that sleeping rough would be too good on that shoulder.”

Roy had to keep his mouth shut. He had a pretty good idea why Mike hadn’t slept well the first night, and why he’d decided to move out of the van the second night.

“I don’t know, Roy—I’m kind of worried about Stoker. He seemed good yesterday, actually, but in general, I worry about him. It’s nothing I can put a name to, but he’s just so … closed.”

“Hmm,” Roy said neutrally. “I know what you mean.” As a holder of privileged information, Roy had to keep his remarks as empty as possible without seeming evasive.

“It’s not just that he doesn’t say much,” Cap continued. “It’s just—I don’t know. He keeps the world at arm’s length, or even farther, without seeming like he’s unfriendly, and without seeming like he’s pushing people away. Everybody likes him, but nobody knows him.”

“I think he’s probably just a very private person,” said Roy, as he got up to pour some coffee for himself and the captain.

“Serena seems the same way. I mean, they’ve been together for years, and she’s been to lots of parties and such with the guys from the shift, but he never talks about her at the station. It’s almost like she’s imaginary, and only exists at social events,” Cap concluded.

Again, Roy couldn’t say anything, as Cap was understanding the truth of the situation, without knowing the reason for the situation. He was trying to think of a way to change the subject, without seeming like he was changing the subject, when they heard stirrings in Chet and Marco’s tent.

“Shiiiit,” said a voice. “Move it, man, I’m gonna hurl.” Chet flopped out of the tent, right next to the conveniently placed bucket, and used it appropriately. “Holy shit. Someone just shoot me—please!” he begged. He made a show of crawling to the fire pit, where Roy had a cup of strong, black coffee ready for him.

“Ugh,” said Chet, as he took a sip. “What the hell was I thinking? I don’t even remember going to bed.”

“Yeah, Gage and I carried you to your tent. Marco, at least, could _sort_ of walk,” said Roy.

“You and Gage? Man, I thought for sure he would pass out before anyone else,” said Chet, “him being such a lightweight and all.”

“Nope—he and Mike were still up when I went to bed,” said Roy, “and they seemed a little silly, but not drunk like the rest of us. Plus,” he recalled, “I heard them dousing the campfire and closing the van door right after I turned in. If they were gonna hang out and drink more, they wouldn’t have put the fire out.”

“Huh,” said Chet. “Maybe Gage just doesn’t bother with the booze when he’s not trying to score with a chick.”

“I’ve noticed that Mike hardly ever drinks much—he’ll have a beer or two, but that’s about it,” mused Cap. “Guess it goes with his personality—if you’re a really private person, it’s probably just more comfortable to keep your inhibitions intact.”

Roy silently and wholeheartedly agreed, remembering Mike’s totally uninhibited confessions and ramblings when he was on morphine after dislocating his shoulder. Plus, with having to share sleeping quarters with Johnny, Stoker probably wanted to make sure he didn’t loosen his inhibitions too much. Of course, Roy couldn’t share this theory with anyone.

Once again, Roy was saved from having to appear evasive, as Chet’s and Marco’s tent decanted another hung-over fireman. Marco headed straight for the woods, and didn’t come back for some time. When he did, he was greenish under his usually robust skin, and his hands were shaking. Cap silently handed him a cup of strong coffee already laced with sugar, just how Marco liked his brew.

“At least it wasn’t tequila,” said Marco. Chet turned even greener than he had been at that thought.

Cap started a second pot of coffee going. Lord knew the four who were awake already would all need plenty, and nobody yet had any idea what condition Stoker and Gage would be in when they finally emerged from the van.

~!~!~!~

At the swimming hole, Johnny and Mike lounged in the cool water for a while, carefully remembering that they were, in fact, completely in public. They were both pleasantly surprised with the morning’s combination of easy silence and conversation. Mike had expected some awkwardness from Johnny, and Johnny had expected from from himself.

On the rare occasions when Johnny had actually found himself waking up next to someone else—male or female—he found the “morning after” to be difficult. With women, he usually felt uncomfortable with any conversation with emotional content, and they often seemed to want to “talk about things.” And he usually found that outside the small-talk of dating, he didn’t have much to talk about with the women he was attracted to, when it came right down to it.

With the men, a night spent together was usually understood in advance to be a casual, one-time thing, two adults using each other, and the conversation usually consisted of “thanks for the fun, see you at the clubs sometime.”

So the experience of waking up with someone, and knowing things were okay, and feeling like he wanted to spend the rest of the day with the person rather than flee to avoid conversation, was new for Johnny. And he found himself liking it.

Mike popped up from underwater, right next to him. “I’m clean. And freezing. Wanna go dry off?”

“Yeah—hey, let’s go up the cliff, see what we can see,” suggested Johnny. They got out of the water, toweled off, and climbed to the top of the cliff that Marco and Johnny had been jumping off the first day. They found a large flat rock that had been warmed by the morning sun, and sat down next to each other. They couldn’t see as far as the campsite, but they could see the trail that led there, and could see evidence of a campfire at about the right distance to suggest it was theirs.

Johnny pointed to the thin column of smoke. “Bet that’s our guys,” he said. “Should we let ‘em stew for a while?”

“Yeah—I’m totally starving, but I don’t think they’d appreciate smelling anything cooking right now,” Mike chuckled.

“Gee, Mike, you work up an appetite somehow?” Gage teased.

“And you didn’t? Look at those ribs, man—makes me wanna feed you a huge steak and an ice cream sundae right now.”

“Item Fourteen!” Johnny provided his lopsided grin for emphasis.

“Um, fifteen, by my count,” Mike added, smirking.

“Huh? What’d I forget? Oh yeah... can’t forget _that_ one! Wonder how we’ll manage it, though? I doubt Cap’ll let you take the engine home for the weekend, ya know.”

~!~!~!~

The men had finished their third pot of coffee, and at least one or two of them were starting to feel slightly human again.

“All right,” Cap said, “I think it’s time to go wake up those two sluggards, don’t you?”

Chet rubbed his hands in glee. “How mean can we be? Still any ice in the cooler?” He checked. “Yep! Little water won’t hurt the van,” he said, as he filled a plastic bag with a mixture of ice and ice water.

“Oh, Chet,” winced Roy, “that is cruuuu-elll.” But he didn’t hesitate to follow along with the rest of the men, to see what would happen.

They sneaked quietly to the van’s parking spot, but stopped short by the open sliding door.

“Huh?” said Chet. “Geez—they’re all packed and everything, and it looks like—brace yourselves—they actually _cleaned_ in here.”

The other three men leaned in to see the tidy van, bunks folded down, mattresses stowed, duffel bags packed and zipped.

“Well, I’m stumped,” said Cap, after a few moments.

“I know!” said Chet, raising his finger. “Gage finally couldn’t take the snoring anymore, and murdered Stoker in his sleep, and had to clean the van to get rid of all the blood. Now he’s off getting rid of the body.”

“Uh, sure, Chet,” said Roy dubiously. “That’s probably it.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll turn up before we have to pack out,” said Cap. “They’re twits, but they’re not idiots.”

“Well, at least Stoker’s not,” Chet amended.

“C’mon, guys—let’s just start some grub going,” suggested Marco. “That’ll bring Gage running in a hurry.”

“I think I’ll take a quick walk down to the swimming hole—they could be down there,” said Roy.

“Yeah, maybe Gage decided to drown him,” said Chet. “Kill, and hide the body, all in one—AAAAAAACK!” he yelled, as Cap quietly dumped the remaining ice from the cooler down the back of Chet’s shorts.

~!~!~!~

“Guess we oughta head back,” sighed Johnny.

“Yep,” said Mike. While they were sitting there silently, Mike had begun to wonder what would happen when they got back to the real world.

Johnny was also thinking about the end of the camping trip, with some trepidation. He couldn’t tell exactly what Mike was thinking, and didn’t ask. But he recognized the one-word response as a Stoker shut-down, and wanted to nip that in the bud.

Johnny scooched right up next to Mike, leaned in close and put an arm around him. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I don’t want this to be over when we get back to L.A.”

“It’ll be tricky,” said Mike, leaning his head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it will.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“That too,” said Johnny. He looked up the trail to make sure nobody was coming, and kissed Mike for the first time in broad daylight. “C’mon,” he said, standing up and offering Mike a hand up.

~!~!~!~

Halfway between the campsite and the swimming hole, Roy ran into Mike and Johnny.

“Hey, there you guys are,” said Roy. “Chet was trying to convince us all an act of murder had been committed, due to extreme snoring, so I came to avert a drowning.”

“Too late,” said Stoker. “He killed me in my sleep and buried me in a shallow grave.”

“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Roy. “You guys hungry?”

“Hey, it’s me!” said Johnny. “Whaddaya think?”

The three men headed back to their hung-over companions at the campsite, who were watching the fourth pot of coffee percolate.

“Hey, coffee!” said Johnny. “That’ll be good. Let’s see, what else do we got—aha! Pancake mix! Far out!”

“You volunteering to cook, Gage?” asked Marco.

“Seems safe—hard to wreck pancake mix,” said Roy. “So yes, he’s volunteering.”

“Stoker, you need a job,” said Cap. “Why dontcha pour out the next pot of coffee. Hey, aren’t you still supposed to be wearing that sling?”

“Hm, yeah—it was better yesterday, but this morning it’s pretty sore. I’ll go get that before I pour out the coffee.”

“Too bad,” said Cap. “I guess you must’ve slept on it funny or something.”

“Or something,” Mike agreed, as he headed to get the sling.

Johnny started mixing up the pancake batter. It was indeed hard to wreck, as only water needed to be added. He mixed it up to the right consistency, pulled the cooking grate down over the fire pit, and placed the large skillet on the grate.

“Geez, Gage, can ya stop with all the clanging?” said Chet, holding his head. “I don’t know how you and Stoker managed to avoid the massive hangovers the rest of us have, but show a little pity, here.”

“Moderation, Chet. Simple moderation,” said Stoker, who was back with his arm in the sling again.

“Maybe you could’ve exercised some of your moderation with the snoring, pal. Man, that was like an earthquake!” complained Chet. “Geez Gage, I can’t believe you didn’t notice that.”

“Oh, I heard plenty from Stoker last night, believe me,” said Johnny. “Plenty.”

“Yeah?” said Mike. “Seemed like you were not sleeping too much yourself, pal. Seemed like you hardly stopped moving all night.” He grinned into his coffee.

“Okay, first round of pancakes is up. Cap? Rank hath its privileges and all, so gimme yer plate,” ordered Johnny. He served up the griddle cakes, and started the next round.

“Anyone seen the syrup? I know I packed some,” said Marco. “Never mind—here it is, Cap.”

Cap started in on his stack of pancakes. “Not bad, Gage—maybe you could add that to your repertoire at the station.”

“Pancakes for dinner? Now that’s an idea whose time has come,” said Stoker. “Hey, engineer next, right?” He held out his plate for the pancakes coming off the skillet.

He sat on a log next to Captain Stanley, who passed him the syrup. Stoker fumbled one-handed with the bottle’s top, and managed to spill some down his front. “Crap,” he said, “got syrup all over myself.”

“Sixteen,” Johnny said instantly, eliciting a deep blush from Stoker.

“What’s that, John?” asked Cap.

“Uh … I think I can get sixteen more pancakes out of this batter,” said Johnny. “Roy, you’re next.”

“So,” said Cap, conversationally, “what’s everyone gonna do when we get back to town this afternoon?”

“Hide from my mother-in-law,” Roy said instantly.

“Head straight for the shower,” said Chet.

“Seventeen,” said Stoker. “I mean, I’ll bet you’ll get seventeen more outta that batter. Including Roy’s, of course.”

“Um, I’m taking Lila out later,” said Marco, “if I’m not still such a wreck.”

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you guys,” said Stoker, “but I’ve got a list of things to do, and it seems like it just keeps getting longer.”

“Yeah, me too,” sighed Johnny. “Too bad we’re all on shift tomorrow—I could really use some more time to work on my to-do list.”

“There’s always Sunday,” said Mike.

“True! Very good point, _Stoker_ ,” Johnny said cheerfully. “Roy—order up.”

Johnny finished cooking up pancakes for Marco, Chet, and finally himself. Everyone finished their meals, and cleanup of the campsite began. Johnny and Mike washed up the breakfast dishes, extinguished the fire, and packed up the cookware and dishes, while the others took care of their tents and sleeping bags.

Roy, Marco, and Chet were all looking fairly green around the gills by the end of the clean-up.

“Chet, are you okay to drive the van?” asked Johnny. “Cause it would be no problem for me to drive if you wanted.”

“Nah, I’m good—Marco and I’ll just keep the windows rolled down for fresh air. Best hangover cure in the world,” said Chet.

“Um, Johnny?” said Roy. “I know how you get carsick and all, but to be honest, I think I’m gonna be worse off than you on this trip back. You mind if I take shotgun? Mike, you mind sharing the back seat with Gage, or have you two had enough of each other?”

Johnny waved him off. “No problem—I’ll probably conk out as soon as the engine starts, anyhow; sleep the whole way home.”

“Roy, maybe you and I can trade off on the driving, if that’ll keep your stomach settled better,” proposed Cap.

“Sounds fine,” said Roy, “as long as Gage and Stoker can behave themselves in the back seat. Man, when we take the kids on trips it’s just unbelievable. ‘He’s on my side!’ and ‘Mom, make him stop that!’”

“We’ll try to behave,” said Mike, “and keep our hands to ourselves.”

The van was packed, the Oldsmobile’s trunk stuffed to capacity, and the caravan was ready to roll.

“See you guys tomorrow, bright and early!” said Captain Stanley, as Chet and Marco hopped in the van.

“Mind if I take the first shift driving, Cap?” asked Roy.

“Be my guest,” said Cap. “I may catch a snooze myself.”

The four men climbed into their assigned seats in the Olds, and set off for the three-hour drive back to L.A.

“Are we there yet?” asked Stoker, as soon as Roy started the engine.

“I hafta go to the bathroom,” said Johnny.

“You kids are gonna be really sorry if I have to pull this car over,” said Roy, getting into the spirit of the immaturity. “Right, honey?” he said to Cap.

“I am waaay to old for this,” sighed Cap, as the car pulled out of the park and onto the main road.

~!~!~!~

After about an hour of driving, Roy stopped at a filling station to tank up the car and get a cup of coffee. The other three occupants of the car were sound asleep. Cap was leaned against the passenger window, and, to Roy’s dismay, Johnny was toppled over onto Mike’s good shoulder. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like Mike even noticed this invasion of his personal space, as he was sound asleep as well.

Roy pumped ten bucks of gas into the tank, used the filling station’s grubby facilities, and bought a cup of stale coffee inside the station. He got back in the driver’s seat, not wanting to wake Cap, and hit the road.

The traffic was light, even as they approached L.A., it being midday on a Friday. Stoker’s place was the first logical stop, so Roy headed that direction to drop him off first. He happened to look in the rear-view mirror as he pulled into Mike’s street. Gage was pretty much in Stoker’s lap, having toppled as far as his seat belt would let him. Alarmingly, Mike’s arm crossed over the front of Johnny’s chest, and it almost looked like Johnny was holding on to Mike’s forearm, like it was a stuffed animal. Roy wondered how he would manage to get Gage off of Stoker without embarrassing either of them.

He pulled the Oldsmobile into the drive of Mike’s bungalow, and shut off the engine. The sudden silence woke Captain Stanley, who looked around blearily. “Geez, Roy—you drove the whole way! You should’ve woken me up halfway.”

Cap turned to say something to the backseat passengers, and couldn’t stifle his laughter as he observed the sight of a sleeping Mike pretty much cuddling a totally-zonked-out Johnny.

“Hmm, maybe we better slam the door, or something,” said Cap. “We oughta switch seats anyhow—you’re next to get dropped off.”

As Roy and Cap swapped seats, they each slammed their doors as loudly as possible.

“Wha—huh?” said Johnny, not quite awake.

“Sh, go back to sleep,” whispered Mike.

“’kay.”

Roy cringed. Johnny must’ve been dreaming he was with some girl, and lord only knew what was happening in Mike’s subconscious. Cap just laughed.

“I’ll take care of this, Roy.” And in his loudest Captain’s voice, he yelled “Roll call in two!”

That was all it took for the two passengers to wake up completely and untangle themselves. “Oops, sorry,” said Johnny, “guess I tipped over.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it; didn’t notice a thing,” said Mike. “Hey, we’re here already! Man, I was out cold the whole way – didn’t even notice you guys stopped to switch drivers.”

“Actually, Roy drove the whole way—this old man missed the whole trip too,” admitted Cap.

“Well, thanks for the ride, and for the trip,” said Mike. “It was … well, it was really great to get outta the house.”

“Hey, lemme give you a hand with your stuff,” said Johnny. “Cap, can you toss me the key to the trunk?”

“No need for that, Gage. This car is modern—watch this!” He flipped a lever down by his foot, and the trunk magically popped open.

“Far out!” said Johnny. “What’ll they think of next?”

Mike and Johnny got out of the vehicle, and Johnny wrangled Mike’s gear out of the trunk. “I’ll just help Mike here put some stuff away, and I’ll be right out,” he said.

Mike fumbled his front door open. As soon as the door was closed, he grabbed Johnny, and had him up against the wall in one second flat. Johnny dropped the bags right where he stood, and enthusiastically returned Mike’s passionate kisses.

“Shit, I wanted to do you right in Cap’s back seat,” panted Mike, as they came up for air.

“Item Eighteen!” said Johnny. “Though realistically, we may have to settle for the Rover.”

The horn honked loudly outside.

“Come over later?” said Mike.

“You betcha. After all, that list is pretty long,” he leered. “See you soon.”

 **The End**


End file.
